Therein Lies Impossibility, Astrid:Season One
by Hannibal the Animal
Summary: What exactly is impossible? In the world of Fringe Science, nothing is truly off limits. Different views of the world according to Walter and Astrid's daily lives, in no particular order. A handful of awkward comments, and we’re ready to go!
1. I Could Observe You All

**Chapter Title: **_I Could Observe You All_

**Chapter Genre:** _Intrigue_

**Chapter Rating:** _G_

**Chapter Notes: **_None for now :)_

**Takes Place: **_During "Pilot"_

**Song: **_"Observer" by Gary Numan_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

_I could stand here for days_

_Or I could stand here for hours_

_I could stand here for a lifetime_

_Watching you and waiting always_

_I could observe you all_

_I could wait for a day_

_Or I could wait for an hour_

_I could wait here for a lifetime_

_Watching you and thinking always_

_I could observe you all_

* * *

"Is that a good song?"

Astrid Farnsworth looked up, a little startled that someone was actually addressing her aboard the bus. Talking to another passenger was taboo—you sit there, I sit here, we leave each other alone. But this man didn't seem to know the rules and was looking at her emotionlessly. She found herself at a loss of words, as no one had spoken to her on a bus before. Plus, his appearance surprised her: an impeccable black suit and tie, and a hat clutched in hands, but it wasn't just his formal dress on public transport that shocked her. Not only was he bald, but it appeared he lacked eyebrows and eyelashes as well. _'Alopecia universalis?'_ she wondered. She realised she was being rude by staring, then remembered that he had asked her a question.

"Oh…yes, it is," Astrid stuttered, looking back down at her iPod then back at him.

He sat down on the empty seat next to her as the bus started moving again and she turned her attention back to her iPod; only three types of people talked to you on the bus and he looked like neither a tourist nor small town folk, which only left "weirdo". This spooked her a little, wondering if it was too late to move seats. By peripheral vision she watched him place his hat in his lap and she pretended she was interested in the scrolling album name on the iPod's screen.

"You smell very nice."

She looked back up, taking his comment to be facetious and possibly creepy, but his face was still impassive, so obviously he was being serious.

"Oh, that's my lunch. I spilled curry all over my sweater," she explained, feeling her cheeks get a little hot.

The bald man cocked his head slightly. "What is your name?"

She carefully pulled her earbuds out and put the song on pause, knowing that this strange man probably wasn't going to stop talking to her, even though they were on a bus. She offered out a hand as she answered,

"Astrid. And yours?"

The man was silent, disregarding her hand, and then said, "Astrid is a good name for you."

"Thank you" she replied.

She actually felt a little grateful that he hadn't expressed surprise when she gave him the Germanic-based name; her whole life people had always responded with facial expressions that said _"But that's not a black name,"_ and _"That's weird for a black girl."_ She watched him pull a pair of field binoculars out of his suit; he looked out the window for a moment with them before returning them to his suit's inner chest pocket. She wondered what he was looking at and peered out the window as well, searching across the construction site they were passing, but saw nothing really interesting.

'_He must just be curious,'_ she thought and shrugged.

She nervously turned the iPod over and over in her hand. "So you like curry? There's a place up the street that makes great Indian food."

He didn't nod but his hairless brows moved a bit. "I find that Indian spices are agreeable. Regrettably, I can hardly taste them."

"Soft palate damage?" she said without thinking. "I'm sorry, that was too personal a question."

He didn't seem offended. "You like how spicy the food is?"

"Indian food?"

"Yes."

She nodded. "I do."

He pulled out the binoculars again and studied a passing bus, then returned them to his suit before saying, "You're on your way to work?"

"Yes. I'm going to be working for a doctor at the laboratories at Harvard. I meet him today." She never talked to strangers, let alone ones on the bus, so she was surprised that she wanted to confess something that had been bothering her all morning. "I'm a little nervous. This is my first big job and I heard that the doctor is, uh, _eccentric_."

"You have nothing to be worried about. The job will be a perfect fit," he said firmly and she sighed.

"I wish I was as confident."

"All right."

Without warning, his fingers planted themselves gently on the area her yoga instructor referred to as her inner eye. Normally she would have yelled or screamed out at strange hands being on her body, but most of her focus was on the fact that she quite suddenly felt completely calm and safe. All the emotional weight lifted and her stomach butterflies had disappeared.

"How'd you do that?" she murmured as he pulled his hands back, but he looked away to the bus' opening doors.

"It's your stop. You don't want to be late," he said in a detached tone, standing up and moving aside so she could leave her seat.

Astrid wanted to press this man further, but she couldn't afford to be late on her first day. She spared him one last glance, clutching at her iPod, still awaiting her to continue her song, and hurried off the bus. She was afraid, at peace, confused, excited, and a multitude of other conflicting emotions all at once. She brushed a piece of lint off her sweater, watching the bus roll away. She shook herself free of the thoughts and walked towards the steps of the Kresge Building.

* * *

_**A/N: **__omg Observer cameo! I am so in love with the weirdness that is the Observer. He's Fringe's Cigarette Smoking Man, who was also a badass. More Observer, plz!_

_Alopecia universalis (sometimes alopecia areata universalis) is a medical condition that causes a person to lose all their body hair with an incidence of about 1 in 100,000. It's believed to be an autoimmune disorder and there is no standard treatment or nor cure. _

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ Someone will die towards the end of the season (not Walter), but he will reanimate their ass._


	2. It Wouldn’t Mean I Was Forgiven

**Chapter Title: **_It Wouldn't Mean I Was Forgiven_

**Chapter Genre:** _Angst?_

**Chapter Rating:** _G_

**Chapter Notes:**_ none :)_

**Takes Place: **_during the "first episode"_

**Song: **_"If I Apologised," by Josephine Cronholm_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

If I apologised

it wouldn't make it all unhappen

wouldn't make the darkness go away

If I apologised

it wouldn't mean I was forgiven

wouldn't mean you wanted me to stay

But

it's a dream

when you seem

to be walking into the sun

we're on first

unrehearsed

and we still don't know what we've done

so we don't say anything.

* * *

_Love. It was the strongest word that Walter knew. It was a chemical word, making powerful bonds with people when mixed and combined with other words. It was caustic, an acidic word that burned into hearts and minds of flesh beings, sometimes with positive, sometimes with negative results. I love my job. I love Peter. I love rootbeer._

_Walter stood over his son's sleeping form, which appeared to be a restless, unhappy sleep. Maybe the boy was dreaming about returning to life without him there. Maybe he was dreaming of the blonde girl. Maybe, maybe, maybe, there were so many things he could be thinking of._

_Walter contemplated waking him up to ask what was wrong, to see if he could help him have a more pleasant sleep, but he knew the boy would be angry, even if he was being rescued from a nightmare. He'd throw a fit, yelling and screaming._

_It hurt when he called him "WALTER!" instead of "DAD!" There was a hard lump in Walter's throat and he bit the inside of his cheek, wishing he could figure out a solution to this problem. But relationships with humans had to be carefully worked on; when there was something wrong with an invention all he had to do was replace the out of order piece and everything would be fine. Not so with people. There was nothing he could replace or tweak with a screwdriver in Peter or himself. This was all about trust, faith, and hope, things that he had never really known anything about in the first place. All he really wanted was Peter's acceptance._

_Walter watched his boy inhale and exhale, his face shifting from a frown to a grimace. Peter mumbled something angrily that sounded suspiciously like "Walter." What was he supposed to do? It would be so much easier if his son had a religion that forced him into forgiveness. But Walter had always been a man of science and Peter's mother had been agnostic at best, so the threatening wrath of God really had no hold over the boy, leaving Walter to do the work himself._

_Peter's name was sacred to him; it meant happiness, joy, safety, a sullen chubby boy that was his only creation that he cherished above all else. The name Peter brought about the same delight as the taste of rootbeer floats, the warmth of hot water bottles tucked under quilts on a bed, the clicking of a Bunsen burner being turned on for the first time. Peter meant love to him and it always had, even when he hadn't been a good father._

"_I love you, Peter," he said aloud, forgetting that he was supposed to whisper. _

_But his son didn't wake and Walter took it as his cue to return to his closet._

* * *

_A/N: Aw. I really think that Walter has a deep love and loyalty to his son despite everything and I'm glad that their relationship has started recovering._

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ Agent Charlie Francis, or as I fondly refer to him, "Chuck", has a thing for Olivia and will compete with Peter to get with her. Go team Peter/Liv!_


	3. Over Here, Comin' Clear

**Chapter Title: **_"Over Here, Comin' Clear"_

**Chapter Genre:**_ General_

**Chapter Rating:** _K+_

**Chapter Notes: **_Just a brief glimpse of life in the lab between cases._

**Takes Place: **_a few days after "The Cure"_

**Song: **_"Good Times" by Tommy Lee_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"Got myself worked up over nothing today  
All this trash is in my head I gotta throw it away  
It's alright  
It's alright

It's lookin like we're getting there  
Over here, comin' clear  
Place that has no rhymes, or times, or crimes  
Just good times  
Just good times"

* * *

"Her name is Astrid, Walter. Astrid," Peter repeated for what had to be the thousandth time that day.

"Yes, yes, Peter. I know what her name is," Dr. Bishop snapped, still tinkering with the metal coil in his hands.

Astrid bit back a laugh and pulled a little black spiral bound notebook out of her lab coat's inner pocket. She flipped a few pages and wrote down, "Aspirin" underneath "Ostrich." She was keeping track of the names he was calling her and some of them were funny, if not a little baffling. The notebook was also being used to record little things about him. The day-before-yesterday's highlight had been _"cotton candy, blue. reminds him of hyacinth"_ and above that, _"hyacinth-3__rd__ favourite flower (what are the other 2?)" _

The notebook was quickly tucked away as she brought over the candle he had requested. Without a word he took it and began rubbing the beeswax on his fingertips. Astrid sat down at the table across from him to watch; she never spoke while he worked, not wanting him to lash out at her like the time Olivia had interrupted him during his evaluation of the newborn-man. Plus, she was still a bit wary of him ever since he had stabbed her in the neck with that needle. His fingers were tacky from the warm wax and he began to play with the metal coil again, studying it from behind magnifying glasses that made his eyes look huge.

Her eyes moved from Dr. Bishop to his son, who was sitting at a computer, staring at the monitor's screen while spinning the office chair's seat back and forth slowly. He had been mostly quiet this afternoon, his snide and sarcastic remarks at a minimum. Astrid couldn't tell from this far, but it looked like he was playing Tetris.

Olivia was back in the makeshift office, probably writing up the report Broyles had wanted. Astrid was a little thankful that she had already finished her documents last night while watching reruns of "The Starter Wife," organizing her thoughts and carefully writing about Dr. Bishop in the most positive light possible, which was difficult considering he was more and more the archetypal "mad scientist."

"Bah!"

Dr. Bishop threw the coil to the table and yanked the magnifying glasses off his head. His eyes met hers and he sighed. She raised an eyebrow, wondering what he was thinking.

"I feel like sweet and sour pork," he said.

Astrid felt a smile growing on her lips. "And kung-po chicken."

He pulled off his lab coat. "With Sichuan beef and broccoli."

"I'll get the take-out menu," she said cheerfully, hopping off her chair.

Dr Bishop moved to the television. "I'll turn on Spongebob!"

In the background Peter groaned.

* * *

**A/N**_**:**__ I love Walter and Astrid watching Spongebob Squarepants while eating Chinese food. I think any show that combines those two things is awesome. And what exactly was Walter doing with that candle and coil? I have no idea. He's the scientist, after all ;)_

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ The Observer is going to appear with replacement!John Scott and crazy hostility will happen between them._


	4. It's a Kind of Insanity

**Chapter Title: **_"It's a Kind of Insanity"_

**Chapter Genre:**_ Humour_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG for "gross"_

**Chapter Notes: **_Walter displays disbelief to Astrid._

**Takes Place: **_during "The Cure"_

**Song:**_ "I'm a Member of Red Sox Nation" by Rob Crawford_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

_"I'm a member of Red Sox Nation, it's a kind of a family__  
_

_Wherever I roam, my Fenway home, that's where I long to be  
I'm a member of Red Sox Nation, it's a kind of insanity  
Yeah, I'll live and die, with Red Sox pride, for eternity"_

* * *

"Red Sox. The Red Sox," Walter repeated, utterly baffled, his soupspoon paused midway to his mouth.

The girl, whom was wearing what he assumed was her favourite aubergine sweater, looked up from the file photos they were supposed to be studying. "What about them, Doctor?"

He held up the day's paper, spilling the spoon of potato chowder in his lap. "The Red Soxs have failed to make the series."

She nodded and returned her attention the file they were reading. "Yeah, I saw it in the papers."

"Never did I think I would see the day that people honestly expected them to make the Series. It's the _Red Soxs_." He smiled at the bowl in front of him. "My, this soup is good. Want some?" he asked, offering a spoonful in her direction.

"No, thanks. The photos have made me lose my appetite."

"I agree. They make me a little nauseous, too. Like the Red Soxs were a viable team in the first place," he scoffed, tossing the paper to the floor.

She raised her eyebrows and pointed to the photographs on the table. "I was talking about these ones."

"Oh." Why on earth would those pictures bother her? All that they showed were dead bodies cooked by radiation. He offered the spoon once more. "Want some?"

* * *

**A/N:** _The Red Sox won in 2004, so obviously he either thinks that it didn't count or he didn't know about it. Silly Walter._

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ Broyles is going to do something that Olivia feels like is selling her or the gang out._


	5. Early in the Morning

**Chapter Title: **_"Early in the Morning"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour_

**Chapter Rating:** _K+_

**Chapter Notes: **

**Takes Place:** _the morning after "The Cure"_

**Song: **_"Early in the Morning" by Buddy Holly_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

_"Well, you're gonna miss me early in the morning one of these days  
_

_Well, you're gonna want me, early in the morning, when I'm away, hey, hey don't you know"_

* * *

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

"What the hell?" Astrid mumbled, stirring from her deep slumber

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

The alarm clock next to her bed read 2:07am and she sat up, trying to wake herself up completely before she answered the phone. Stretching across the mattress, she grabbed the cordless before it could ring a third time.

"Hello?" she greeted, knowing she still sounded considerably sleepy.

"Hello?"

She was surprised at the familiar voice that had responded. "Dr. Bishop?"

"Who is this?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's Astrid. Agent Astrid Farnsworth." He said nothing and she wondered if he had forgotten who she was. "I work with you in the lab?"

This seemed to jog his memory. "Ah, yes. The girl with the curly hair."

She was a little startled that that was his perception of her, but pressed on. Obviously something was up. "Yeah. Uh, is everything okay?"

"Yes."

He didn't continue and Astrid was surprised. "Do you mind if I ask why you're calling me at two in the morning?"

There was a faint voice on the other end of the phone and Astrid recognised the other Bishop's tone. "Walter?"

"It sounds like Peter's up! Peter! I'm in here!" he yelled out happily and Astrid quickly pulled the phone away from her ear to keep his loud voice from deafening her.

There was a rough handling of the phone and Dr. Bishop protesting with "hey!" before Peter's voice came clearly over the receiver.

"Hello?!"

Astrid tried not to laugh. "Hi Peter. It's Astrid."

The other man groaned. "Oh, jeez. Astrid, I'm so sorry that my dad called you. He didn't wake you up did he?"

She could imagine what a handful the older man was and sympathetically said, "It's fine. At least he didn't call some random stranger, right?"

"I'm sorry, Astrid. I'll keep him away from the phone," he promised, sounding just as tired as her.

"Okay, Peter. Because next time I'm going to ask for a raise or overtime or something," she joked.

Peter smirked and she yawned. "See you in the morning."

"Bye, Astrid."

Somewhere in the distance she could hear the doctor happily shout, "Bye!"

* * *

**A/N:** _I bet Walter would be a menace with a phone. Calling up random people at all hours of the day._

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ We've already been told Olivia will be going to Germany (ooh!) and I think that we'll globe trot to Iraq again and London, where Walter is from._


	6. And Eyes That Burn Like Cigarettes!

**Chapter Title: **_And Eyes That Burn Like Cigarettes!_

**Chapter Genre:**_ Mystery_

**Chapter Rating:**_ G_

**Chapter Notes: **_Posted on Halloween '08 :) Happy Halloween!!!_

**Takes Place: **_the week after "The Cure" on Halloween_

**Song: **_"Short Skirt, Long Jacket" by Cake_

**Disclaimer: **_No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

_"I want a girl with a mind like a diamond_

_I want a girl who knows what's best  
I want a girl with shoes that cut  
And eyes that burn like cigarettes_

__

I want a girl with the right allocations  
Who's fast and thorough  
And sharp as a tack  
She's playing with her jewelry  
She's putting up her hair  
She's touring the facility  
And picking up slack

_I want a girl with a short skirt and a lonnnng jacket......"_

* * *

"It's windy today!" Walter proclaimed happily.

The girl smiled back at him. "Sure is!"

"That means it's a good day for soup! The French Onion kind!" he said, feeling excited; he really liked soup weather.

She shrugged and took a sidestep closer to him as a few feds moved past them. "I was in the mood for pizza!"

"Will you two shut up?" the blonde girl snapped, glaring at the both of them.

Walter turned back to his curly haired companion, his sunny mood only slightly dampened. "She's in a snippy mood today, isn't she?"

She didn't get a chance to respond as Peter turned around, scowling. "You think, Walter? 57 eleven year olds have gone missing on a crowded schoolyard during a five minute recess and all you can think about is what you want to eat! Can't you be serious about anything?"

The wind blew harder and Walter tucked his scarf up a little closer to his ears. "I see nothing here that points to the Pattern. How do we know they didn't just walk off?"

Now it was Broyle's turn to speak. "There was a similar instance ten years ago. None of those children were ever seen again. We've reviewed the school's surveillance cameras and they didn't show up on it."

"There are only cameras in the front though and someone could easily sneak past them, especially a small child," the girl offered, showing how clever she was, which was something that Walter secretly admired.

"But 57 of them?" his son said skeptically.

"I'm just trying to be helpful," she protested and Walter frowned—she was making a valid point, after all.

The blonde girl still appeared to be annoyed. "And nobody saw them walking on the sidewalks—it's pretty hard to miss an eleven year old, let alone that many.

His assistant shrugged her shoulders. "I'm just skeptical because it's Halloween. I know that it's not productive of me, but kids like to pull pranks like this on Halloween."

The boy let out a ragged sigh. "Well, let's just hope that it's nothing more than a prank."

Walter decided he was bored with the whole matter—there was nothing to look at, nothing to prod at, nothing, nothing, nothing. So he turned his attention to the young thing at his side. She was wearing a plum mackintosh reaching just above her knees and she had belted it tightly around her waist. Her curly hair being tossed by the wind, a cocoa brown halo that he imagined was quite soft under fingertips. Her eyes were amazingly warm depths of hot chocolate (which he was starting to crave), molten hot with their heat and he imagined with delight that any lingering look from her would burn. A dove grey scarf was wrapped and folded elegantly around her neck, matching the colour of her slacks—his eyes momentarily fixed on the hemline that fluttered around her ankles over the sharp black dress shoes she wore. She shifted her weight from her right foot to her left, leaning yet even more closer to him.

"I think your mack is very flattering, Asteroid," he complimented.

She looked a little surprised, as she was prone to when he talked. "Thank you, Dr. Bishop."

Peter gave a loud annoyed sigh. "Her name is _Astrid_, Walter."

"I _know_ that," Walter said, exasperated that his son kept reminding him of something he already knew.

Broyles' cellphone rang with an inappropriately upbeat Caribbean tune that seemed to embarrass the agent. He answered it and hardly spoke, not that Walter was really interested in what was going on at this point, and finally his face went even more sober than it usually was. Broyles closed his phone, let out a ragged sigh, and turned to them. "The kids have been found, Olivia."

Both the blonde and Peter gave a disbelieving, "What?"

"They're okay, right?" his assistant asked.

Broyles now looked pissed. "It's all some stupid prank. The damn kids were hiding in the storm channels two blocks over. They used the Left Street alley to get there. That's why no one saw them.

"Mystery solved," Peter declared, sounding a little annoyed.

Walter grinned at the curly haired girl beside him, his hand clasped on her shoulder. He knew exactly what to say to get that slight smirk on her face.

"Let's get soup!"

* * *

**A/N: **_Hah, I love Walter, especially Walter checking Astrid out._

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ Nina Sharp actually thinks she's a good person._


	7. Heart and Arm

**Chapter Title: **_Heart and Arm_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour, spit…swapping?_

**Chapter Rating:** _G for gross_

**Chapter Notes: **_"Does anyone have a mint?"_

**Takes Place: **_two days after 1.02 "The Ghost Network"_

**Poem: **_"__Ah, Not This Granite Dead and Cold," by Walt Whitman_

**Disclaimer:**_ No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_The indomitable heart and arm—proofs of the_

_never-broken line,_

_Courage, alertness, patience, faith, the same—_

_e'en in defeat defeated not, the same"_

* * *

Astrid was carrying another box of laboratory supplies that Homeland Security had purchased for Dr. Bishop to use; it was early in the morning before Olivia was to show up, but the Bishops were there, Walter at his microscope and Peter off getting Starbucks to help them wake up.

She was walking past Dr. Bishop when he made a face. "Ugh, what is the horrid smell? Are you chewing on a butterscotch?"

"Yes," she replied, feeling a bit embarrassed for eating candy so early in the morning.

"Throw is out! In the hallway's trash can, not in here!" he ordered angrily, pointing towards the door.

Irritated for being chastised so early in the morning by a man who couldn't remember her name, Astrid set the box down heavily on a stool and huffed over towards the exit. She leaned out the doorway and tossed the hard candy in the trashcan across the way, then took a deep breath to recall her mantra.

"Be patient, be patient, be patient," she murmured as she closed her eyes.

Feeling a bit better, she shut the door again and fished her pack of Orbit out of her back pocket. She popped her last piece into her mouth and returned to her job of moving the boxes from one side of the lab to the other.

"Don't like the smell of butterscotch, doctor?" she asked, trying to make amends as she lifted the box off the stool once more.

Gene mooed pitifully, obviously wanting to be milked. Dr. Bishop looked up at the cow and then at her.

"Those bastards at St. Claire's would feed butterscotch pudding to us on Mondays. Horrible, horrible stuff," he said with a shudder.

"You don't have a problem with spearmint, do you?" she asked, not wanting to part with the breath-freshener.

He smiled and shook his head. "Not at all. In fact I'd like some right now."

"Sorry, that was my last piece," she apologised.

"That's okay," he said with a shrug, holding out his hand.

Astrid frowned. "I don't think Peter would approve of me transferring germs to you."

"I could obtain germs in worse ways. Give me the gum," he ordered, holding out a glass slide.

She could tell she really didn't have a choice in the matter and as much as she didn't want to, Astrid took the piece of Orbit out of her mouth and placed it on the small glass plate. The doctor quickly produced a scalpel out of his lab coat pocket and proceeded to split the already chewed piece of gum down the middle. She grimaced as he selected a half and began to chew it. He offered up the specimen slide to her and though she hesitated, she still took her half.

Dr. Bishop made a face and spit his half out, trying to hand it over to her.

"Residual butterscotch flavour. Won't you go help our good friend Gene out, my dear?" he asked, nodding his head towards the bovine as she accepted the used gum in a tissue.

"Of course, Dr. Bishop," she said with a sigh, shaking her head, tossing the tissue and gum into a waste bin nearby.

Astrid almost rolled her eyes, but decided that being disrespectful would probably not be good for her career. She dug a pen out of her lab coat pocket and scribbled on the inside of her wrist, "need more gum." It was going to be a _**long**_ day.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ _DUDE. This was the second TLIA piece I had written and I couldn't believe my eyes when the mint/gum thing showed up on 1.07. Well played, J.J. Abrams. Well played._

_The poem line I used regards virtues that will keep a person strong/ undefeated, end when they have technically lost. I think Astrid has more patience with Walter than anyone because she's got inner-strength._

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ The song "Someone to Watch Over Me" was something that Walter would sing to Peter's mother. Aw, how sweet :)_


	8. At First I Was Afraid, I Was Petrified

**Chapter Title: **_"At First I Was Afraid, I Was Petrified"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour, Hand in a Jar, Eating_

**Chapter Rating:**_ PG_

**Chapter Notes: **_Walter drags Peter out for hamburgers and milkshakes. What could be more normal than that?_

**Takes Place: **_midway between "The Arrival" and "Power Hungry"_

**Song: **_"I Will Survive," as sung by Cake_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_It took all the strength I had_

_Just not to fall apart_

_I'm trying hard to mend the pieces_

_Of my broken heart_

_And I spent oh so many nights_

_Just feeling sorry for myself_

_I used to cry_

_But now I hold my head up high"_

* * *

Sitting in the Harvard parking lot, in the Vista Cruiser, Walter was happily eating his hamburger, careful not to bite into the pale yellow paper wrapper. The warm meat combined with mustard, pickles and ketchup created a world of flavour in his mouth, something that still left him in disbelief; the food at St. Claire's—simply put—was **terrible**. _Dreadful_ even. Mystery meats, Jello that didn't have enough sugar, over-steamed broccoli, no chocolate—the thought nearly made him gag. Disgusting. He wouldn't even feed that swill to his enemies, which he had plenty of. He didn't bother swallowing as he sucked vanilla milkshake out of his cup. Ah, the mixture of the sweet and savoury, the chewed and the creamy…he could write odes to McDonald's at this moment.

His son's voice broke his thoughts. "Good, Walter?"

Walter nodded feverishly. "Excellent. I never thought I would eat this delicious food again."

"I'm glad you like it," Peter said, giving him a slight smile.

Walter was glad that his son seemed willing to talk with him, so he decided to make conversation. "I doubt Gene would taste as good."

Peter made a face. "Don't talk about eating Gene. That's like talking about eating a family dog."

"You can eat dogs, too, you know," the older man said informatively.

"Walter!"

"It's true, Peter! You know that!"

"No talk of eating dogs, no talk of eating Gene! God! What is wrong with you?" Peter cried, his hands moving around dramatically.

"You started it. I was just trying to talk," Walter grumbled.

"Pick a new topic," Peter growled pointing a French fry at him aggressively.

"Do you remember when we used to sing on our long car trips?" the older man asked curiously.

His son nodded while he drank from his own nearly empty milkshake.

"What songs did we sing?"

"You had an Bob Dylan cassette and we'd change the lyrics around. Sometimes we listened to Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack, sometimes Gershwin." Peter looked a little suspicious. "Why?"

"Why what?" Walter asked, unwrapping the second hamburger that had been waiting patiently in his lap.

"Why did you ask about what we'd listen to in the car?"

He paused, looking down at the hamburger, unsure how to say it without disappointing his son. "I can't remember those details anymore."

Peter looked upset, almost humiliated. "Oh."

"I wish I could," he apologised.

Peter's expression softened and he turned around his seat, looking into the backseat of the still cluttered station wagon. "I think I saw one of the old cassettes floating around on the backseat—ugh! What's this hand still doing back here?!"

His son passed up the jar with the preserved hand; Walter held the jar up proudly, not noticing that he was smearing ketchup and mayonnaise on the dusty glass. "Ah! I knew there was something in here I wanted!"

Peter made a face as he slipped back into his seat. "Put that away!"

Walter dropped the jar down by his feet, pleased. "I want to bring it back to the lab to show my assistant," he said with a mouth full of his hamburger sandwich.

"Her name is Astrid and she is not your assistant. She'd Olivia's assistant," Peter said, sounding peeved.

"Who?" Walter asked.

"Astrid."

"What about her?"

"She's Olivia's assistant."

Who on earth was Peter talking about? "Who's Olivia?"

"Agent Olivia Dunham?"

By now Walter was completely confused. "Who?"

"Never mind!" his son shouted.

Silence fell over the two once more, only the sounds of chewing a car passing by breaking the awkward stillness. Finally, Walter spoke.

"This is a delightful hamburger," he said happily.

Peter sighed and shook his head, looking completely worn out. "Glad you like it."

* * *

_**A/N: **__Sometimes I just feel so bad for Peter :)_

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ This song will play at some point in the series._


	9. I'm Mr November

**Chapter Title: **_"I'm Mr. November"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour, body parts, political_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG-13 for gross (Plus today's lyrics have the f-bomb)_

**Chapter Notes: **_What does Walter get a craving for as he does an autopsy?_

**Takes Place: **_after 1.06 "The Cure" on the day after Election Day (Nov 2__nd__), Nov 3__rd_

**Song: **_"Mr. November" by The National, in honour of Election Day_

**Disclaimer:**_ No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_The English are waiting_

_And I don't know what to do_

_In my best clothes_

_This is when I need you_

_The English are waiting_

_And I don't know what to do_

_In my best clothes_

_I'm the new blue blood, I'm the great white hope_

_I'm the new blue blood_

_I won't fuck us over, I'm Mr. November_

_I'm Mr. November, I won't fuck us over"_

* * *

Agent Broyles had had the body delivered down to the lab with the promise that while the death really had to do with the Pattern, experiments didn't need to be done. Pattern scientists were already well aware of the cause of the man's death, just that it would be interesting to look at nonetheless. Walter really didn't care; he enjoyed spending extra time doing autopsies with the curly haired girl. Peter and the blonde had run off to investigate the man's apartment, so that meant he got the lab alone with her.

"Spontaneous human combustion, Asterisk!" he announced loudly after they donned their lab coats and put on their protective full-face shields.

Dramatically he unzipped the body bag to reveal an upper torso and a pair of legs, no head

"Whoa. He was really baked, wasn't he?" the girl said, recoiling slightly.

"Indeed. And now I have an odd craving for fried chicken," he replied, breathing in deeply.

She made a face. "Eww."

"And mashed potatoes. Pop!" he declared as he cracked open the ribcage with a bone cutter.

The remaining liquid organs in the chest cavity burst at his rough handling, the thick, pinkish goo splattering across their face shields. Ever the prepared one, his curly haired companion wiped the mess off his shield with a paper towel. She was apparently trying to maintain control over her gag reflex and he sighed as she started cleaning off her own face shield.

"You're going to need to learn to keep an appetite at work, otherwise you'll never eat. I'm very serious."

She didn't look so convinced. "I just don't like associating KFC with him."

"Then don't. This man is dead, just a body. And he also happens to smell like something very delicious. Oh, I'm so hungry," he insisted as he quickly filleted samples of the man's charred skin and she took his hint.

"We can grab lunch after we finish the autopsy report," she said holding out collection beakers.

"The Colonel!" he said delightedly as he dropped the slices of skin into the beakers and she took them away.

As he watched her carefully set up the slender glass tubes in their medical-grade refrigerator he realised how much he enjoyed the time alone with her in the lab. She didn't yell at him like Peter or the blonde girl, and while she seemed very put off at the fact he couldn't seem recall her name, she wasn't rude about it. Plus she always seemed to have some form of treaties with her—foil wrapped chocolates, red and white striped peppermints, black licorice bites, strawberry hard candies, and sugared gummy worms. She always graciously shared and he wondered if she was doing it as a way to reform the friendship that had been developing before he, well, knocked her out. He wanted to tell her he could smell the saltwater taffy, but he didn't want to spoil the surprise.

* * *

They were sitting in the crowded fast food restaurant, their meals set on red trays and Walter hardly had the patience to use the black plastic utensils as he began to devour the steaming mashed potatoes and fried chicken. She looked a little appalled at his eating habits, but he was hungry and unapologetic.

Walter had babbled the entire time they stood in line, wringing his hands nervously as he sent out not-so-silent prayers of hope that there would be plenty of fried chicken for him to enjoy. The girl had been very patient with him as she paid the cashier and had even bought him a Dr. Pepper, which to be honest was a poor substitute to ginger ale, the day's current craving.

"Pass me a napkin, Obama," he said, his mouth full of steamed corn.

She frowned at him, looking incredibly displeased. "You remember the name of the new president, but you can't remember my name?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and began to mix the gravy into the mashed potatoes as he tried to think of the right thing to say. "It starts with an A. You can have my coleslaw if it'll make you feel better."

She sighed and offered over one of the thin paper napkins. "You can keep your coleslaw. My name's Astrid."

He kept his eyes lowered to his food. "Of course it is," he said softly.

He wiped at the corners of his mouth, loathing himself for already losing her name. It started with an A…

* * *

Walter spent the bus ride back to the university looking at his assistant, wondering if he was making things worse between them. If he could remember (and possibly borrow money from Peter), he would buy her a box full of chocolate covered expresso beans to make amends. He pondered this for a moment and decided he'd probably need a box himself.

"Can you take down a note for me, young lady?" he asked her kindly.

"Hold on," she said with a sigh and began to dig through the totebag she had in her lap. He watched with interest as she pulled out a notebook and a pen. "Okay, I'm ready," she said, looking at him.

He raised his eyebrows. "For what?"

"The note you wanted me to take down?" she said, her sentence rising at the end so it sounded more like a question than a statement.

"Oh! Did I ask for that? I seem to have already forgotten," Walter said happily.

The girl looked slightly disgruntled and a brilliant idea came to him. "When we get back to the lab I'll make you popcorn, my dear."

"Okay," she said with a nod and she put the notebook away.

Food was always a good bargaining tool and his offer seemed to have pleased her at least a little. This made him feel a bit better; if he had it his way, he wouldn't have forgotten whatever brilliant idea he had had, but such was life.

"I sing the body electric!" he abruptly declared in a loud manner, startling a few of the other passengers on the bus. "The armies of those I love engirth me, and I engirth them; they will not let me off till—"

"Till I go with them, respond to them, and discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the Soul," the girl finished and he was astonished.

She smiled at him and Walter was smitten; the fact she could obvious read minds or anticipate what was to be said or—

"It's been committed to my memory. You've been repeating it sporadically for the part few days, Dr. Bishop.," she explained, kindly patting his hand.

"Have I?" he said breathlessly, wondering if by chance she knew other poems by the man of his poetic namesake.

"This is our stop," she replied and the moment was broken.

He followed her off the bus obediently and he couldn't wait until they were back in the laboratory, having had a sudden craving for popcorn.

* * *

She had perched herself on the stool, leaning over his desk to peer into the wok. Walter moved around by her side and placed the foil over top as he turned the Bunsen burner beneath on. He decided he ought to tell a story.

"I remember taking Peter to the fair once. I bought us a bag of the most delightful treat called kettle corn, which is salted and sugared popcorn."

The girl nodded. "Yeah, I've had it before. It's good."

As he shook the wok slightly to turn the kernels inside, he said quietly, "I wish I remembered more abut that day at the fair, but I had so many memories taken from me at St. Claire's."

"Maybe it's time for you to make new memories?" she suggested and he almost told her that he would like to have the feeling of her curly hair memorised.

"You're a good girl, Obama," he insisted as he offered up the first of the popcorn to her.

He watched her roll her eyes as she shook her head. "Let's start with you remembering my name."

* * *

_**  
A/N:**__ I love kettle corn, but it gets stuck in between my teeth :(_

_I think "I won't fuck us over" ought to be the Bishops' mantra. Srsly._

_Plus, congrats to Prez Obama! _

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ That psycho Nina Sharp will have someone raid Walter's lab, if she doesn't go there herself._


	10. Night, Sleep, Death and the Stars

**Chapter Title: **_"Night, Sleep, Death, and the Stars"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Chitchat, Walter's crazy, Jellybeans_

**Chapter Rating:** _G_

**Chapter Notes: **_Another midnight phone call between Walter and Astrid._

**Takes Place: **_after "Power Hungry"_

**Poem: **_"A Clear Midnight" by Walt Whitman_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,_

_Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,_

_Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou_

_lovest best,_

_Night, sleep, death and the stars"_

* * *

He held the phone receiver to his head as he arranged the jellybeans he had accidentally spilled all over the closet floor. There was ringing and while he was grouping the yellow flavours together, the other end answered.

"Hello?" Walter inquired curiously.

The girl on the other end sounded very sleepy as she said his name. "Dr. Bishop?"

He was incredibly pleased that she had been the one who picked up. "Oh, hello, Ostrich! How are you?"

He could imagine her rubbing her eyes with her small hands as she spoke. "Tired. Is everything all right?"

"I was lonely." This got no response from her, so he felt the need to explain. "At St. Claire's we weren't allowed to talk after they put the lights out."

"O-o-oh," she stuttered and he could tell that she wasn't sure what to say—oh, maybe she had a lights out policy, too?

"You can talk now, can't you?" he asked, nervously, hoping he wasn't getting her in trouble.

"Of course, Dr. Bishop. But wouldn't you rather get some sleep?" she asked, ending the sentence with a yawn.

Walter was a little astounded at how many greens had been in the bag of jellybeans "I tried. I was lonely. Do you get lonely when you try to fall asleep?"

"Sometimes," she said and he wondered if she had ever confessed this to anyone else.

"What do you do?" he asked curiously.

"I try to think about what I'll be doing the next day. Going to work, getting my car fixed, seeing Agent Dunham, Peter, you, going grocery shopping—"

This peeked his interest, so he interrupted. "What will you buy?"

"At the market?"

"Yes."

"You sure think about food a lot, don't you?" she asked and he could sense her curiosity.

He tasted one of the pink jellybeans and then spit it out. "At St. Claire's they fed us the most terrible, terrible meals. Ones you could hardly consider food."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said sympathetically.

"The butterscotch pudding was the worst," he said mournfully, recalling many horrible Mondays dreading suppertime in the institution's cafeteria.

"So you've told me."

This surprised Walter. "Oh! Have I?"

"Yes." She continued with her shopping list much to his delight. "I'll buy some spaghetti noodles and fresh tomatoes. Um, apples, because you know what they say about apples."

"What do they say?" he inquired, happy to be given a riddle to solve.

"An apple a day keeps the doctor away?" she replied, sounding as though she asking him to tell her that she was correct.

"Is that so? If I had known that I would have eaten the applesauce they gave us at St. Claire's to keep those quacks away from my drawings. I could have designed an efficient low flow-toilet but they wouldn't give me penne noodles for my pasta collage. Just macaroni and shells, those _bastards_," he said angrily.

"I'm sorry to here that. I would have given you penne," she told him compassionately.

He stopped toying with the jellybeans and smiled. "I know you would, my dear."

"Dr. Bishop?"

She sounded tired again and he wondered what colour was her favourite.

"Yes?" he asked as he selected aquamarine.

"I really want to keep talking to you, but I have to get some sleep."

The jellybean dropped from his fingers. "Peter won't talk to me."

"We can talk in the morning, if you want," she said, her voice gentle either from exhaustion or fondness.

He hoped it was the latter.

"While I milk Gene?" he questioned, wiping a bit of dust off the bluish candy.

Her tone returned to enthusiasm. "Of course! I'd love to."

"All right, eh, Ester. I'll talk with you later," he said feeling dejected.

"Goodnight, Dr. Bishop," she parted.

"Shall I sing you something to fall asleep to?" he inquired, hoping to keep her on the phone a bit longer.

She made a noise that he suspected might be a muffled laugh. "That's very sweet of you, but I'll be fine."

"Goodnight then," he said sadly and hung up the phone.

He made a few organised piles of red jellybeans, blue, and yellow, then ate all the purple ones in a fell swoop. There was someone lurking on the outer edges of his mind, someone who wore a violet hue that he found simply astounding. He wondered that if he were able to find that purple, perhaps he might be able to cocoon himself in it, a bliss of plum and Bordeaux—

"Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily! Life is but a dream!" he sang happily, suddenly feeling quite inspired to sing.

Even though the closet door muffled most things, he still heard his son a clear as if they were standing next to one another.

"_**WALTER!"**_

This made him smile cheerfully and he shouted back. "I'm in here, Peter! There are **jellybeans**!"

* * *

**A/N:** _Damnit Peter! I meant to post this before episode 1.07, but I had a ton of papers to do/got lazy and the show beat me to the punch. That whole "Walter reminisce about food because he was locked up" was supposed to be mine. Peter, why did you steal my lines?! D:_

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ Walter's gonna start doing these midnight calls. _


	11. Snapshot in the Family Album

**Chapter Title:**_ Snapshot in the Family Album_

**Chapter Genre:**_ Worry_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG for violence against fruit and for Olivia's 'tude._

**Chapter Notes: **_Tears for poor Mr. Papaya, the friendliest of fruit :'(. Plus, where the hell did Walter get those googly-eyes, pipe cleaners, and little hands? Does he have some craft supply drawer in the lab for demonstrations when he runs out of gerbils? I think that was the __**real**__ mystery of the episode. _

**Takes Place:** _during 1.06 "The Cure"_

**Song: **_lyrics from __"A__nother Brick in the Wall part One", music from "Another Brick in the Wall part Two" as played by the London Symphony Orchestra_

**Disclaimer:**_ No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

_"Daddy's flown across the ocean  
Leaving just a memory  
Snapshot in the family album  
Daddy what else did you leave for me?  
Daddy, what'd'ja leave behind for me?!?  
All in all it was just a brick in the wall.  
All in all it was all just bricks in the wall."_

* * *

Peter and Astrid lurked behind some of the shelves and machinery in the lab, discussing the information of Olivia's birthday, which Astrid had previously known about, but neither of them could figure out.

"So did you get her anything?" Peter asked, his brow still in its seemingly permanently knotted state.

She gave a shrug, knowing her answer was pretty lame. "Starbucks card. I just know that she doesn't like to celebrate and that she has a serious coffee jones. You?"

He shrugged, too, looking uncomfortable. "Haven't had time."

Shuffling footsteps caught their attention and around the corner of a dusty shelving unit appeared Dr. Bishop, a blue bowl in his hands and an excited smile on his face. "Would you like some—oh, Peter! You're here!"

Peter's frown deepened. "Yes, Walter. I've been here for a while."

The doctor's attention turned to her and he offered out the bowl. "I brought you some of poor Mr. Papaya." Then he looked at his son. "Would you like some, too, Peter?"

"No."

Dr. Bishop looked pointedly at Astrid before he left. "I'll be at my microscope."

Peter looked at her for an explanation and she shrugged as she began to leave their hiding space. "Your father likes to have company while he eats his snacks."

"You know _a lot_ about him," Peter said and she stopped walking, turning back to face him.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Peter raised his hands defensively, his eyes wide. "Nothing. I was just pointing out that you know a lot about him. Personality wise, I mean. We still have a hard time opening up to each other."

Astrid had always been a people-person, so that was a hard concept for her to grasp. She couldn't imagine not having a relationship with her family. "Why?"

"Because it's _Walter_."

They continued walking towards the elder Bishop and their noise caught his attention. He turned around to look at them and a startled smile crossed his lips.

"Peter! What are you doing here?"

"See?" Peter said pointedly.

"Would you like part of Mr. Papaya? I could give you my bowl and share with Ostrich," the doctor added, his face lit up with hope.

Peter seemed less impressed. "It's _Astrid_, Walter."

"Yes, of course it is," the doctor said brightly.

"No, I don't want any of the papaya."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes_," Peter snapped, his voice sounding incredibly strained. "I'm going out."

Dr. Bishop looked hurt. "Where? You just got here!"

She watched Peter grind his jaw. "I did not just get here, Walter. I've been here **all** **day**."

"Where are you going?" Astrid asked, forgetting about her bowl of fruit entirely.

"To get something for Olivia. A birthday present, I guess."

"You'd better not get her a Starbucks gift card. That was my idea," she jokingly threatened.

Peter gave a weak smile. "Don't worry. I'm getting something a little different."

He grabbed his jacket that was hanging off the back of a chair and headed for the door.

"Don't forget your scarf!" she called after him, but didn't stop, hurrying out of the lab as though possessed by something.

Astrid felt a hand rest gently on her shoulder and she turned to see Dr. Bishop standing next to her.

"Do you suppose he's all right?" she asked quietly, turning to look back at the closed door.

"Are you talking about the way he goes skulking around?" he inquired, his voice holding an edge of seriousness that made her stomach tighten.

She nodded and Dr. Bishop's hand squeezed her shoulder.

"I worry about him, too," he muttered. "I worry about him, too."

* * *

_Random Fringe Prediction: __Peter is actually a clone of Walter, a la Professor Farnsworth and Cubert Farnsworth from Futurama!_


	12. Where Have You Gone, Joe DiMaggio

**Chapter Title: **_Where Have You Gone, Joe DiMaggio_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour, Reminiscing, Making Astrid Uncomfortable_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG-13 for adult themes_

**Chapter Notes: **_Walter's revealed that he has a thing for bondage, but what else is he into?_

**Takes Place: **_The morning after 1.07 "In Which We Meet Mr. Jones"_

**Song: **_"Mrs. Robinson" by Indigo Girls_

**Disclaimer:**_ No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_Koo-koo-ka-choo, Mrs. Robinson,_

_Jesus loves you more than you will know._

_God bless you, please, Mrs. Robinson._

_Heaven holds a place for those who pray,_

_Hey, hey, hey__"_

* * *

"Have you ever been with someone older than you, Afro?"

Astrid choked on her morning coffee, jerking her head to the older man's direction. "Dr. Bishop?"

Dr. Bishop was looking at her across the desk, seemingly ignorant of her shock. He was folding a piece of paper into an impossibly small square, seeming oblivious of that, too. "I once had an affair with an older woman when I was a graduate student. She was head of the History department; she told me she liked younger men one evening that I was spending in the library."

"Uh…" Astrid said, _really_ wishing that Peter was here to tell his father to "stop!"

"I'd estimate her age to be mid fifties, quite handsome if I do say so myself. Her husband was the dean of Oxford at the time and their youngest son used to date one of the girls I worked with. He had red hair if I remember correctly. Her son, not the dean," he clarified as if it were relevant to the story.

Astrid knew this story was going to get graphic and soon, which really wasn't something she wanted to think about in any way, shape, or form. And now it felt like she was going to have an anxiety attack as he spoke of the books he had been reading while this "Mrs. Robinson" had made advances towards him—her chest was tight and her hands were gripping her coffee, horrified at the situation. Words were pouring out of Dr. Bishop's mouth quicker and quicker, as though he could reach the juicy part of the story quick enough.

"And then she perched herself in my lap. I tried to explain that I had most important research to finish gathering, but she insisted that it could wait, so she started to unbutton my shirt—"

"I THINK GENE NEEDS TO BE MILKED!" Astrid shouted abruptly, squeezing her Starbucks cup so hard the lid popped off and splashed part of her coffee across the desktop.

Dr. Bishop looked a little frightened at her sudden outburst, but craned his head to look at the cow, whom was staring back at them, her jaw paused midway through a chewing of cud.

"I s-s-suppose you could do that," he stuttered and she quickly hurried away, nearly tripping over herself in her haste.

_'Thank god for Gene,'_ she thought as she put as much distance between them as she could. She pulled out the crate they'd been using as a makeshift stool and located the milking bucket, running her soothing hands on the cow's flank before beginning the mindless task.

By the time Dr. Bishop found his way over to her, she had relaxed her nerves once more.

"You never answered my question, Afro."

"Pardon?" she said nervously, not remembering a question being asked.

He sat down on the cement floor by her feet, looking up at her.

"I don't forget _everything_, you know." He grinned at her wickedly and she felt her breath catch in her throat. _"Have_ you ever been with someone older than you_?"_

* * *

_**A/N:**_ _Was this chapter for the sake of Astrid/Walter shipping? Alas, no. I was scanning my iTunes library for inspo and spotted "Mrs. Robinson." How could I pass that challenge up?! Thus this segment was born, amid much of my own giggling about Walter freaking "Afro" out._

_And sorry if you read this story before I checked it. ff . net butchered chunks of it which was totally weird._

_Random Fringe Prediction: Lucas from "In Which We Meet Mr. Jones" is going to get severly injured sometime this season and Liv is going to have to help him, making Peter super jealous._


	13. I Awake to See That No One is Free

**Chapter Title:** _I Awake to See That No One is Free_

**Chapter Genre:** _Dark_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG-13, I guess_

**Chapter Notes: **_Some of the rambling thoughts that consume Walter_

**Takes Place: **_the day before 1.07 "In Which We Meet Mr. Jones"_

**Song:**_ "Spies" by Coldplay_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_I awake to see that no one is free_

_We're all fugitives - look at the way we live_

_Down here, I cannot sleep from fear, no_

_I said which way do I turn?_

_Oh I forget everything I learn_

_And if we don't hide here_

_They're gonna find us_

_And if we don't hide now_

_They're gonna catch us when we sleep_

_And if we don't hide here_

_They're gonna find us"_

* * *

The boy had been complaining of a terrible headache and Walter finally insisted that he take something that he had stashed in one of his desks. The boy had agreed and now he was slept peacefully on a cot against the wall. Of course Walter hadn't warned him that it would knock him out, but he had already told so many lies—what was one more?

The blonde girl was sighing, her head occasionally lifting to look over in his son's direction. Walter could tell that she liked his son, very much. There was definitely something romantic brewing between them, despite what his son said. Walter could always tell these things. The girl had covered Peter with his own coat, even though he was sleeping on the cot by the radiator, so he was undoubtedly already warm without her help—_'oh,' _Walter realised, _'this was one of those symbolic gestures that lovers were prone to do for one another.'_ There were many nights that Peter's mother had draped a throw over his shoulders when he spent the night in his basement laboratory. He couldn't remember ever returning the favour, not that she had ever been one to stay up late. His son wasn't him though, and Walter was certain the Peter was the type of person who would cover the blonde with her coat if she ever chose to kip here.

"White for Walter, Red for Peter, we don't share a bed," he muttered as he looked for a pen to write down a sudden idea he had for an efficient low-flow toilet.

A waft of lavender made him look up and he realised it was from the girl with curly hair, his assistant. She was rinsing out a flask she had boiled some water in, the skin up to her wrists wet with soapy liquid. She had made him tea, which was cooling in a coffee mug that read, "World's Best Scientist." She had gotten it for him and he wasn't sure if it was a joke or if it was a statement. Well, Peter had told him that Afro was actually the blonde's assistant, but Walter thought of her as his. And the mug was the perfect weight in his hand, so he had deemed it one of the few things he wasn't going to crash around when he was feeling dramatic—he'd hate to have to find a replacement for it.

He liked lavender. It was his fourth favourite flower. It was supposed to have calming properties, ones that made him sleepy and relaxed, something he needed right now. Walter hadn't felt this anxious since his first night in St. Claire's, where the spacious dark had closed in on him all the while Carlos singing his eerily monotone rendition of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat."

Peter shifted slightly in his sleep and Walter spun back around to watch his son. Yes, he was still safe. Still sleeping in a safe world where nothing could get to him. Walter gave a nervous sigh and wondered why he was looking for a pen. There were many things in this world to be afraid of and he had created a good majority of them.

A delicate hand rested lightly on his right shoulder, causing him to jump. "Dr. Bishop?"

He turned around to see who it was. "Hmm? What is it, Aspirin?"

"Is Peter all right?" she asked softly, glancing over at the sleeping figure in the corner of the room.

Walter had never truly appreciated the richness in the colour of her eyes until now.

"I don't know. Due to our already strained relationship, he does not speak to me of his problems." He was suddenly struck by an epiphany and grasped at her upper arm. "May I speak to you of something private?"

Ascot nodded quickly, looking quite concerned. "Of course, Dr. Bishop. You can talk to me about anything."

He knew he could talk to her, because there was nothing in those beautiful eyes that spoke of the wickedness that the world had. He could confide in her and possibly get her reaction, to see if he was being paranoid—

However, the blonde Ms. Dunham approached them, breaking the moment.

"Dr. Bishop, we should wake Peter." She looked between them, obviously seeing that she had interrupted something. "What?"

Walter nervously began to search his desk for a pen, having just had a sudden idea for an efficient low-flow toilet. "Nothing. I was just…yes, we should wake him up."

Dunham nodded, still glancing between him and his assistant, then turned towards his son. Walter felt better knowing that Peter had a strong ally at his side and then realised the curly haired Asteroid was still with him. He smiled at her and she handed him a pen, smiling kindly back.

"Would you like to talk later?"

"I fear that I will not remember later. But it's nothing to worry your pretty little head about. I think it's just my overactive imagination at work," he said with a slight, though strained, laugh.

Now it was her turn to speak quietly and lean in close.

"Dr. Bishop, you know you're safe here, right?"

"I worry about Peter—"

"Don't." Her hand gently touched his. "Liv and I will fight to the death for you and Peter. I promise."

"I know you will."

"We're _safe_," she repeated.

He smiled at her sadly, wondering if she knew, if she _truly_ knew the dangers he had allowed to take formation. She was sweet, naive and obviously with good intentions, but he doubted if she understood the peril he put them in each day, each second of every hour.

"C'mon. Let's go get cinnamon rolls at the cafeteria," she said quite suddenly, the serious side of her gone, leaving nothing but the girl he saw everyday.

"We'll grab one for Peter!" he declared, faking his enthusiasm.

This seemed to appease her and she left to go tell Peter and Dunham of their intentions.

"O the blest eyes, the happy hearts, that see, that know the guiding thread so fine, along the mighty labyrinth," he murmured sadly and found his scarf, having a sudden desire for baked goods.

* * *

**A/N:** _The poem Walter recited in the last sentence is from Walt Whitman's "Song of the Universal."_

_I think that Walter's pain distresses pretty much everyone, no matter how evil he can be. Astrid probably takes it pretty hard because other than Peter, she's the one who spends so much time with him._

_But I dunno--was this angsty enough? I personally think I could have done better._

_Random Fringe Prediction:_ _Broyles has something to do with the Pattern and he's trying to fix it._


	14. See the Feathers Fly

**Chapter Title: **_See the Feathers Fly_

**Chapter Genre:**_ Humour, Arguing, Slight Angst_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG_

**Chapter Notes:**_ It's the day after Olivia's birthday and she isn't coming to work, which leads everyone to realise that she's the glue that keeps their gang together._

**Takes Place: **_Day after 1.06 "The Cure", follows chapter 10_

**Song: **_"No Phone" by Cake_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_No phone, no phone,_

_I just want to be alone today_

_No phone, no phone_

_Ringing stinging_

_Jerking like a nervous bird_

_Rattling up against his cage_

_Calls to me throughout the day_

_See the feathers fly"_

* * *

Astrid walked into the lab early that Saturday morning, removing her warm parka to hang on the coat tree, when she stopped dead in her tracks.

"You've already milked Gene," she said confused as Dr. Bishop walked past her with a bucket of fresh milk.

"Oh, was it your turn?"

"No…but I thought we were going to talk—" he handed her a mug of the fresh milk, "—thank you—I thought we were going to talk while you milked Gene."

"Oh, did we have plans?" he said casually.

Astrid was more than a little surprised that she was so upset. "Yes. We made them when you called me this morning?"

He cocked his head. "Did I call you?"

"Yes."

"What for?"

"To talk… hey, where's Olivia?" she said, looking around.

Peter appeared from the laboratory's restroom. "She's not coming today. Taking the day off."

This made Astrid feel strange—not bad, not uneasy, but strange because it broke the established order of things. "So it's the three of us?"

Peter nodded, a large frown set on his face. "Yep. I'm going to be in the office. I don't want to be around him for the next coupled of hours—he's driving me crazy."

"No problem, I've brought colouring books," she said, pulling out her morning's purchases.

Peter looked a little put off. "Colouring books?"

"Human anatomy colouring books," Astrid corrected. "Got them in the campus bookstore."

"I have coloured pencils! And markers!" Dr. Bishop proclaimed excitedly, digging through one of the desk's deep drawers.

"I know," she said, completely forgetting that he had overlooked their original morning plans.

She didn't miss Peter rolling his eyes, though.

* * *

A few hours later, Dr. Bishop was finishing up a story as they worked on colouring skeletal systems and musculature.

"And then Peter said, "Daddy, you're my best friend"."

"Aww. That's so sweet," Astrid swooned, thinking of the surly young man sitting in the laboratory's office.

Dr. Bishop smiled and paused in his colouring to look at hers. "Yes, Peter was a sweet boy. I want that page."

She tilted her head. "I've already coloured half of it."

"Yes, but I don't have that page in my book."

"Fine," she said, sliding her book over to him, but he pulled his away from her. "Hey! I want to colour, too, you know!"

"Don't marker outside the lines," he ordered sternly as he grudgingly passed it over to her.

She nodded. "Noted."

"And don't use orange," he said, pulling the orange marker out of her hand. "What a ridiculous colour to make the spine."

She rolled her eyes and selected the green marker. "All right."

"You're doing it wrong," he said moments later, sounding angry. "Like _**this**_."

He began to slash blue lines coming out of the vertebrae and then tied them to a roughly drawn drip feed.

"I'm not drawing medical wires coming off the skeleton," Astrid snapped, pulling the page away from him.

"But that's what **I** want," he complained.

"_Stop yelling_!" Peter shouted from the office.

Dr. Bishop grumbled, and she felt bad for getting nasty with him; she could tell that he was becoming restless. His hand reached up for her and she jerked her head away.

"You have straw in your hair. I'm going to pick it out," Dr. Bishop explained and she relaxed, paying attention to the skeleton she was colouring.

"Okay. Careful, though," she said absentmindedly.

His fingers carefully pulled a yellow fleck out of her hair and he blew it onto the desk.

"Peter, I want to go out!" he shouted suddenly.

"No, Walter. I'm busy and I'm not making Astrid go by herself. Wait until we go for lunch," his son called back.

Dr. Bishop sighed and then turned back to her. "Your hair is very curly."

"Mmm hmm," she said, wondering if she ought colour the rib bones pink or orange.

"Like the colour of the autumn leaves outside our building," he purred.

"Mmm hmm," she repeated, selecting the pink marker.

"Lovely coils of russet, the hue of loam," he continued, taking hold of one of her spiraled locks, gently pulling it out,

"Don't pull my hair," she scolded, one hand swatting at his while she focused on colouring in the lines.

"Spring!" he said in a sing-song voice as he released the coil.

"Peter, I want to go for a walk!" he shouted again angrily.

"No! I'm _busy_!" Peter shouted back, sounding just as irritated.

Grabbing her head, Dr. Bishop pulled her close—she let out a startled noise.

"Your hair smells marvelous!" he declared as he breathed in deep.

Peter, having heard Astrid's surprised squeal, appeared from the office.

"Walter! Let her go!" he shouted, running towards them.

Dr. Bishop still held her head his hands and she helplessly held onto his wrists, trying to keep her balance.

"Smell her hair, Peter!" he exclaimed happily. "It's like strawberries!"

Peter forced the man's hands off her. "Walter, stop! You're going to hurt her!"

"I would never hurt Asterisk!"

"You have before!" Peter shouted.

"That was completely different!" Dr. Bishop roared.

Peter started yelling and Walter was screaming.

Astrid covered her ears, taking shelter by the cow, who was mooing in a distressed manner.

"It's okay, Gene," she comforted.

"She's a woman, not one of your gerbils!" Peter shouted.

"I'm _**very**_ aware that she's a woman, Peter!"

Astrid covered her ears once more, her face hot and her heart suddenly in her stomach. Why on earth did that affect her? Was it the words? Was it the way it was said? Or worse yet, was it because _he_ said it?

It didn't matter because the fight had ended with Dr. Bishop going into the bathroom, slamming the door dramatically. Astrid moved slowly back over to Peter, who was rubbing the bridge of his nose while giving a ragged sigh.

"Who would have guessed it was Liv who keeps us together?" Peter shook his head, looking absolutely worn out. "I need something to drink."

"It's not even lunch time," Astrid chided but right now alcohol was something she needed as well. "There's a bar across the street. I'll try to get your father out of the bathroom and we'll meet you over there."

He looked relieved as he grabbed for his jacket and scarf. "I'll get us some buffalo wings."

Once Peter was well out of the lab, Astrid went over to the bathroom; she softly rapped her knuckles against wobbly door and inquired, "Dr. Bishop?"

"You're not Peter," he said through the thin wood, sounding sad and somewhat confused.

"No, I'm Astrid," she explained, hoping this wouldn't upset him.

The door opened and she was more than surprised to see the older man's face streaked with tears. His pale greyish eyes glistened and she felt her heart pounding, suddenly upset that _he_ was upset.

"Where is he?" Dr. Bishop asked, his voice breaking slightly.

Astrid beckoned him out gently. "He's going to meet us for lunch."

She suddenly found herself being held by Dr. Bishop, whom had started crying again.

"Why can't he be more like _you_?"

Astrid said nothing.

* * *

**A/N:** _I really think that Peter makes Walter cry. We all saw his eyes get misty when Peter started singing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat."_


	15. Chain Reaction

**Chapter Title: **_Chain Reaction_

**Chapter Genre:** _Fluff!_

**Chapter Rating:**_ G_

**Chapter Notes:**_ OMG, singing? :D_

**Takes Place:**_ between 1.07 and 1.08_

**Song:**_ "Chain Reaction" as sung by Steps_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_You took a mystery_

_And made me want it_

_You got a pedestal_

_And put me on it_

_You made me love you_

_Out of feeling nothing_

_Something that you do, oh"_

* * *

"Something smells like pickles!" Dr. Bishop complained loudly.

Astrid was sitting in the backseat of the Bishops' Vista Cruiser, the older half of the Bishop duo sitting to her right. Peter was the driver and like all road trips, the constant noise and bickering happening behind him had put him in a bad mood.

"That's you, Walter!" Peter snapped. "You took the pickle spears from the deli and kept them in your coat pockets—"

"Well, where are they?" Walter shouted, digging through his coat frantically.

"I threw them away!" Peter said exasperated.

"Peter!" Dr. Bishop cried, sounding devastated.

Astrid chuckled at how ridiculous the argument was becoming and instantly regretted it as it had drawn attention to her.

"Make him take me back to the deli!" Dr. Bishop pleaded while Peter glared at her from the rearview mirror.

"Uh, well, we have to get back to the lab. We're already running late and Agent Broyles hates tardiness," she said, hesitantly, not wanted to make either of the men upset.

And it was true—they were supposed to meet Broyles back at the lab and he hated it when he was behind schedule.

"Peter, I'm starving—"

"We just had lunch—_get out of the way, asshole_!" Peter screamed at the car ahead of them.

Dr. Bishop persisted. "Yes, but the pickles—"

It appeared Peter had had enough. "Oh god! If I buy you more pickles, will you shut up?!"

"There's a convenience store!" Astrid shouted, pointing to the opposite side of the road.

Peter jerked the wheel viciously to the left, swerving in front of two cars who (thankfully) didn't hit them. Bouncing over the curb and into a parking space in front of the small building, Peter stopped the station wagon and turned around to growl at the two of them.

"Stay. Here."

Peter left and Astrid felt slightly responsible for putting him in such a bad mood.

"Radio!" Dr. Bishop sang, leaning across the front seats to turn the music on.

The vehicle filled with upbeat oldies and it took mere seconds for her to place the tune.

"I know this song! Turn it up, Asterisk!" Dr. Bishop said excitedly. "Yes, yes! One of the nurses would play it in the cage while we were supposed to sleep."

He began to sing and she let out a startled laugh. "Never in my life did I think I'd hear you sing Chain Reaction."

He began moving in tempo with the beat. "Do you know the song?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. I sang it in high school choir."

"Then sing along!" he cheered.

She felt her throat tighten, feeling stage fright for the first time in her life. Dr. Bishop had taken her hands, swinging them back and forth and she wondered if he had noticed how sweaty her palms had suddenly become.

The driver's door opened and Astrid jerked her hands away as though he had been burned.

"Here!" Peter snapped, passing a plastic bag back to his father.

"What's this?" the older man asked curiously.

The young man turned the radio off. "The pickles you wanted."

"Peter," Dr. Bishop started in the most dramatic and irritated tone she had ever heard, "pickles _**smell**_."

* * *

**A/N:** _I just wanted something silly *shrugs*_

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ Nina Sharp's arm will get all crunched up in some horrible accident/fight._


	16. But If You Don't Dear, Confess!

**Chapter Title:**_ But If You Don't Dear, Confess!_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour, Flirting_

**Chapter Rating:** _K_

**Chapter Notes: **_How does a mad scientist try to cop a feel? Find out the way only Walter could._

**Takes Place: **_between 1.07 and 1.08_

**Song: **_"Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps," as sung by Cake_

**Disclaimer:**_ I just write plotbunnies :)_

* * *

"_You won't admit you love me and so_

_How am I ever to know_

_You only tell me_

_Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps_

_A million times I ask you and then_

_I ask you over again_

_You only answer_

_Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps__"_

* * *

He couldn't help himself—he had been fighting the urge all day long, but now that the blonde girl and the boy had left he was presented with the perfect opportunity. He slowly moved up behind the curly haired girl, careful not to make too much noise—he didn't want her to turn around just yet. She was reading something he had typed earlier, her head a little bowed and her shoulders almost hunched. He stood there, counting to ten before he cleared his throat slightly. She straightened up, but didn't turn around.

"Yes, Doctor?" she asked, her fingers moving to the edges of the manila file.

He tugged gently at one of the curly locks before him, the temptation to touch much too great.

"May I have a sample?"

This caused her to turn around, spinning the seat of her office chair to reveal large, surprised coffee eyes. "Of my hair?"

He nodded, but knew he needed to be firm about the matter. "It will grow back."

She made a face. "What do you need it for?"

Why did she need to be so difficult about it? "I'm building a library of DNA. So far I have everyone's but yours."

"You're not going to do anything with it, right? No experiments, no manipulation?" she inquired, eyes narrowing.

He sighed, rolling his eyes. "It's for an emergency."

"Emergency?" she stuttered, her eyes wide again.

"If something were to happen to one of us, we can use this to identify remains. And a true DNA sample is slightly different than that of a clone," he said, trying to assure her that this was actually a legitimate request to make.

"I thought a clone was an exact replica," she said skeptically, raising an eyebrow and frowning as he reached his hand out again to fiddle around with a springy lock of her hair.

She made no move to get away from his touch, so he decided to humour her question regarding the cloning process.

"Not quite," he said. "A clone's DNA has an identifying marker that is only noticeable when compared to a control sample."

She sighed, obviously giving into his whims and turned back around to find a pair of scissors in the desk's top drawer. She handed him the orange-handled tool and he took the selected lock, snipping it off at close to the roots. His hand lingered a little longer than necessary on the milk chocolate curls, the tips of his fingers studying the smooth twists and he nearly leaned in to see if she indeed smelled of warm cocoa as he had often imagined.

"You really needed a sample that big?" she asked and he quickly jerked his hand away.

"No," he said unapologetically as he dropped the curl into the culturing dish he had hidden in his lab coat's pocket until now.

She looked incredibly displeased, but she didn't argue. "What are the differences?"

"With what?" he asked, slightly confused.

"A clone's DNA and mine," she replied.

"Ah!" he said, now remembering what he had been talking about. "A clone's molecular structure contains no memory. Some people report acquiring memories, knowledge, and personality from the person they receive and organ transplant from. That is because the human body itself is a giant conductor and storage facility for memory and personality. A clone's body is empty. Memory and personality has only been recorded in their brain. A clone's DNA will react differently under synaptic transfer because of that."

"What about reanimation?"

"That is different all together." He pulled a sharpie out of his lab coat and handed it to her as well as the lid to the culturing dish. "Write your name."

She carefully printed her name on the lid and handed it back. He wondered what memories her DNA held.

He glanced at the wording. "Divine beauty."

She raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"That's what your name means," he explained.

Ah! Now that brought out that little smile that was like a glimmer of sun from behind a cloud.

"Oh. Yes, it does," she said, and he wondered if he was imagining that hint of pink on her cheeks.

He looked down at the petrie dish; did her hair curl in a golden spiral?

"Let's see if Spongebob is on," she said getting up from her stool.

Walter was more than happy to follow her.

* * *

**A/N: **_I'm sure Walter's got game—I mean, look at Peter! He had to get it from somewhere!_

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ Peter's mother will have brown curly hair._


	17. Strange Fruit

**Chapter Title:**_ Strange Fruit_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG-13 with "adult" and violent references_

**Chapter Notes: **_An odd morning involving pancakes and old songs._

**Takes Place: **_The day before 1.08_

**Song: **_"Strange Fruit" as sung by Nina Simone_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_Southern trees bear strange fruit,_

_Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,_

_Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,_

_Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees._

_Pastoral scene of the gallant south,_

_The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,_

_Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,_

_Then the sudden smell of burning flesh._

_Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,_

_For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,_

_For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,_

_Here is a strange and bitter crop."_

* * *

The phone rang and she didn't have to open her eyes to know it was dark and who was on the other end.

"Hello, Dr. Bishop," she greeted sleepily, her eyes still closed.

"Oh, hello. Who is this?" he asked cheerfully.

"Astrid, the assistant," she said with a yawn and sat up.

"Ah, of course! Hello!"

"Hello," she repeated, awake now.

"What are you up to right now? I'm watching Peter sleep. I'm hoping that in that when he wakes up he'll boil me an egg for breakfast. Hmm, I suppose I could wake him now."

Astrid was quick to respond, fearful of making his son angry. "No, no, keep talking. I'm interested why you're up so late."

"I was woken up by the noises of our neighbors. They're very loud." As if to drive the point home, he added bluntly, "They're having **sex**."

She grimaced. "I gathered."

"What are you going to have for breakfast?" he inquired and she could hear him

"Gee, I hadn't thought that far ahead, Doctor." She sighed, realising he was expecting her to answer so she made something up off the top of her head. "Pancakes and—"

He seemed to like her answer. "Pancakes! Oh, what a marvelous idea! Do you have boysenberry syrup?"

"N-n-no," she stammered.

"No matter. I'll eat them without it. When were you going to start cooking? I'll be sure to wake Peter up in time to get them fresh."

"I—"

"And his stack needs to be bigger than mine. I would hate for him to go hungry. You should see his eating habits, no sense to them." Dr. Bishop didn't take well to her silence and asked impatiently, "Well?"

Astrid sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I have your address written down somewhere."

"Peter needs seven hours of sleep and he's already had four. Ooh, I just love pancakes with butter and lots of syrup. And bacon. Be prompt!"

* * *

Astrid showed up at the Bishop hotel room cum apartment early that next morning, six o'clock to be exact. The door opened and she gave a friendly smile.

"Good morning Peter."

Peter rubbed at his eyes with the base of his palm. "Astrid, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Your father wanted pancakes," she said, holding up the grocery bags.

He looked at her in disbelief. "Pancakes."

Dr. Bishop appeared in the background, wearing pyjamas and a broad smile. "Ah, good! You're here!"

"Morning, Dr. Bishop. Hungry?" she asked, walking past Peter and towards the kitchenette.

"Very." Dr. Bishop seemed positively electric that she was here baring food, dancing around by her side and leaning excitedly over her shoulder. "Peter, would you mind starting my shower? I want to make sure she has all the supplies."

"If he starts causing trouble, yell," Peter instructed and left.

It was hard to explain, but Astrid was just as excited as him. She never had breakfast with anyone and the last time she had cooked for someone other than herself was at least eight years ago. Dr. Bishop's enthusiasm was positively contagious and she found a grin on her face, her movements in sync with his as they began to assemble the food.

"Would you still like a hardboiled egg to go with your pancakes?" she enquired, pulling out a plastic yellow mixing bowl.

He handed her the white melamine spoon. "Maybe at lunch. An egg salad sandwich."

Peter returned from the bathroom and leaned against wallpapered wall, his arms crossed and eyes narrowed. "Now tell me, Walter—how did Agent Farnsworth know that you wanted pancakes for breakfast? ESP?"

"Don't be silly, Peter," his father scoffed, sounding irritated at the sarcasm. "I called her."

"Walter…" Peter groaned.

"I couldn't sleep!" Dr. Bishop said throwing up his hands.

"Yeah, but if you're going to wake anyone up, it should be me."

The older man scowled. "You get angry when I wake you up. She doesn't."

Peter turned his critical eye to her. "Now you see what you've done? He'll be calling you at all hours of the night."

"Hardly," Dr. Bishop spat nastily.

"Just go shower, Walter," Peter said shaking his head and pointing his finger towards the bathroom door.

Astrid giggled slightly as Dr. Bishop shuffled off to the bathroom, grumbling and she motioned for Peter to help her. Using a baking tin and the hotel provided hotplate, she had a full kitchen available to her and began to fry up the bacon the older man had requested.

"You're just encouraging him, you know. You don't have to do this," Peter insisted as he measured out the pancake mix.

She shrugged, uncomfortable with revealing the real reason why she wanted to do it. "I'm hoping it will help him remember my name.

"Astrid, the young lady who makes the food," Peter joked as he tossed eggshells into the room's waste bin.

"It's way better than "Afro"," she laughed.

Peter produced paper plates and the bacon was quickly divvied up three ways. The pancakes were quick to follow and even the younger genius looked like he didn't regret Astrid coming over to cook.

The sound of the bathroom door open signaled Dr. Bishop was done with his shower. "That smells _delicious_—"

"WALTER! Put some clothes on! God!" Peter shouted and Astrid thanked her lucky stars for not looking up in the scientist's direction.

"Are all mornings like this?" she asked, trying to keep back a laugh.

A vein in Peter's temple was throbbing. "Yes, though normally it's Olivia knocking at our front door to tell us about reanimated boyfriends or people boiled and baked by radioactive women."

"I merely come baring food," she said stacking another pancake on Peter's plate, not forgetting that Dr. Bishop had told her to give his son more.

The sound of returning footsteps shuffling across the carpet and a peeved voice nearly had Astrid giggle momentarily.

"I'm _dressed_," the older man huffed, sitting down at the small table by the window.

"Your breakfast," she said, setting his plate at the table.

"This looks perfect. Perfect!" he said happily, finding a plastic fork that still had left over enchilada dried to it. "Peter, put on the radio. I want to listen to music while I enjoy this. And let her pick the station."

Peter took his father's fork from him and gave him a clean one while Astrid served up her own plate before saying what station she wanted. "There's a jazz classics station on 1180.2 FM."

Astrid instantly recognised the lyrics:

_Bulging eyes and a twisted mouth…scent of magnolia, clean and fresh…then the sudden smell of burning flesh…_

"Oh, I know this song," Dr. Bishop said cheerfully. "There was a man who sang it in art class while he depicted the lynching of his younger brother."

"Ugh, Walter. That's sick. Now I've lost my appetite," Peter complained, pushing his plate away.

Astrid, on the other hand, was somewhat desensitized to the lyrics; she had written an extensive study on the impact of the song in her junior year of college.

"This version of the song is by Nina Simone," she said before she took a bite of the fluffy pancakes.

Dr. Bishop gave her contented smile and sighed happily as he paused in eating his breakfast. "I _love_ music in the morning. It goes perfect with a homemade breakfast."

* * *

**A/N:** _When did I know I was crazy in love with Walter Bishop? Episode 1.03, "The Ghost Network," when he and Peter are in the diner and Walter says "There's something important…" and I'm expecting him to rattle off string theory or the secrets of the universe. No. Instead he continues with, "__Oh! I've decided on the pancakes... blueberry." I literally dropped the fork I was holding and said, "I love you."_

_Seriously: smart and slightly unpredictable? He is just all sorts of perfect ;)_

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ Broyles has a private and momentary breakdown, making Olivia really question wtf is going on with the Pattern._


	18. Oh, Let's Go Back to the Start

**Chapter Title:**_ "__Oh, Let's Go Back to the Start"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Sad?_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG for language_

**Chapter Notes:**_ Walter wonders where he went wrong with his—er, Olivia's assistant_

**Takes Place: **_After 1.04 "The Arrival"_

**Song: **_"The Scientist" by Coldplay_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_I was just guessing_

_At numbers and figures_

_Pulling your puzzles apart_

_Questions of science_

_Science and progress_

_Do not speak as loud as my heart_

_Tell me you love me_

_Come back and haunt me_

_Oh and I rush to the start__"_

* * *

Walter pulled at the loose thread on the sleeve, where the yarn was unraveling; he sat in the dark, in the closet once again.

"Zero. One. One. Two. Three. Five. Ocht. Thirteen…thirteen…

He fumbled with a caramel he had stashed in his dressing gown's pocket and picked a bit of lint off it before sticking it in his mouth. He had no idea where the candy's wrapper had disappeared off to, but his mind had other things to process. Fingers…fingers, processing the texture of the carpet beneath him, imagining it were Braille. Secret messages hidden here beneath him? The magic words he had to say? Perhaps.

The closet smelled quite clean, like it had been recently vacuumed, and Walter breathed in deeply, pleased there was no dust or mold to bother his nostrils. He realised he was rocking slightly and he pretended he was afloat on the sea, no moon, stars or wetness to touch him here in a warm room in Boston. Able to sense the clothing hanging motionless about him, he could feel the loneliness smothering him. He felt like his chest was slowly being crushed. His palms were sweating and he wiped them nervously of the rough carpeting, picking up lint on the way. His mouth felt dry, sticky—oh, that was the candy. Maybe he was going crazy.

"Not possible," he said aloud in a stern manner. "It's this damn medication."

And that very possibly could be true! Medication could be fickle and unfortunate as he had learned in St. Claire's. It was nice to be unmonitored of course, but he was still trying to understand his own human limitations. He had saved them, he had done the right thing, but why did it hurt? Why did it feel so awful? He could relive every second of it, feel the same apprehension as he moved behind her—oh sweet Mary, he'd been able to smell the lotion she wore!

He had cradled her body so momentarily, even though he had been frantic to take the beacon and hide it. Yes, he had certainly felt sinister as she had struggled against him. Delicate small fingers that so trustingly handed him the syringe, premeasured of course so that she wouldn't overdose. It had been unexplainably warm and he wondered if it was because she had momentarily transferred the heat while she held it and then she was down on the floor.

"I'm sorry…" he mumbled, his mind struggling to find her name.

These damn drugs, clouding things that should be very simple and easy to remember. Things that he should simply remember for the sake of knowing. Like her name, which started with a vowel.

"And sometimes "Y"," he added at the end, because vowels did sometimes included the letter Y.

Well if he was going to be honest, he only thought of her as "her". She was the pretty assistant who he truly wasn't worthy of.

He gave a surprised laugh; he was mourning her loss. He was actually mourning her loss because—

He choked a little.

Because he cared about her.

She had been fair and unjudgmental. No, _nonjudgmental_. She had been fair and nonjudgmental. She didn't tell him to shut up like Peter did and she didn't look at him with disgust like the blonde girl Olivia did. Yes, the assistant with the non-recallable name was more than he had deserved so he tried to rationalize what he had done.

"She would have to learn at some time or another that not everything is black and white. This was just an opportunity that we had to operate in shades of grey. If I could trust her with grey, I wouldn't have had to do this to her," he said firmly, nodding to himself.

But this made him feel worse. Was it because he was trying to make it her own fault, that she had had it coming?

"She did have it coming! I planned it!" he argued logically, because if the event was planned then she literally "had it coming."

But the double meaning of something in her foreseeable future and something that she done to warrant his actions coiled angrily like serpents in his gut. She didn't deserve blame or his logic, just an apology and, well, he was certain he had more caramel somewhere.

"Walter, for the love of God, what are you shouting about—" Peter threw open the closet door and looked at him. "Why are you crying?"

"Why are you bringing God into this?" Walter asked, wiping a tear away with his sleeve.

"What? Oh, it's an expression." To Walter's surprise, Peter sat down on the floor next to him, his brows knotted in concern. "Walter, are you okay?"

"No." Walter opened his mouth to let everything spill out, but he couldn't piece his thoughts together, so he settled with, "No, I'm not."

"What's wrong, Walter?" his son asked sympathetically.

"I don't want her mad at me," he said sadly.

"You're still upset about Astrid?"

"Why wouldn't I be!" Walter snapped.

"Walter, don't yell at me. I'm just trying to talk," Peter said with a scowl, but didn't raise his voice at him.

"I don't want her to quit. I enjoy working with her. She's the best assistant I've had."

"She's Olivia's assistant, Walter."

"She's my assistant when we're in the laboratory, Peter. If she solely belonged to Olivia, she would only be there when Olivia showed up."

"Astrid doesn't "belong" to anyone, but I guess you do have a point." Peter gave him a curious look. "You really like her?"

"She and I got along very well, son. She was patient with me."

"I know. That's something we probably won't find in anyone else."

"I don't want anyone else. I want Esther," Walter begged.

"Astrid, Walter. If you want her back, you're going to need to remember her name. It's Astrid."

"I offered her the opportunity to even the score, but she wouldn't take it."

Peter gave an amused snort. "That's because she's not going to hurt an lucid older man to make herself feel better. Astrid isn't a sadist."

Despite himself, Walter smiled at that. "I know. That's why I like her. But I still want her to know that I… that she didn't deserve to be handled like that. I could have been more gentle."

"Yes, you could have. She was crying, said her neck hurt," Peter admonished.

"I know."

"Walter, why don't you go lay down, get some sleep," Peter said, getting up off the floor.

"But, I—"

"You'll be able to think better with a rested mind. In the morning we can brainstorm."

"You do have better luck with women, after all," Walter said wisely, allowing his son to help him up.

Peter made a noise of annoyance and they shuffled in the dark to find their respective places of slumber. Their hotel suite was dark, but not nearly as dark as the closet.

And certainly not as dark as the eyes of the girl who hated him.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ This little drabble is one I kept pushing back because I couldn't get it right, but the line Walter says in 1.08 really inspired me: "Is that what it's like to talk to me?" I figure his thoughts and talk to himself would sound rambling and somewhat disjointed._

_Oh and if you go to my profile, I have a link to my livejournal where I posted "lo's amazing fr1ng3 comic". While it may not really be as funny to you as it is to me, at least give me some feed back on it! The link is under the American flag. Hop to it!_

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ The "Gentleman" is the Observer!_


	19. As Souls Only Understand Souls

**Chapter Title: **_As Souls Only Understand Souls_

**Chapter Genre:**_ General_

**Chapter Rating:** _K_

**Chapter Notes: **_Astrid's first time alone in the lab with Dr. Bishop while Olivia and Peter chase Claus Penrose_

**Takes Place: **_during 1.02 "The Same Old Story"_

**Poem: **_"Perfections" by Walt Whitman_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_ONLY themselves understand themselves, and the like_

_of themselves,_

_As Souls only understand Souls"_

* * *

Dr. Bishop was a bizarre person and Astrid felt as though she were walking on eggshells when she was around him. He had strange quirks that sometimes led to angry outbursts and she certainly didn't want to get caught in his crossfire—she'd seen how he acted towards Peter, there was no telling how he'd snap at her. She suspected that Dr. Bishop could become violent and given that Broyles had let her read his case files, she knew he could. An assistant had died and under very mysterious circumstances.

But this evening he seemed a little more relaxed and she wondered if it was because Peter and Olivia were gone. Maybe they created too much tension for the older man—they certainly did for her. Astrid was trailing behind him as he wandered around the lab, feeling a little lost herself as he fussed with papers. He muttered to himself, which only made her more curious about him. What was he speaking of? Equations? Theories?

He spun around abruptly, making her jump slightly.

"Oh! Hello, young lady. Shall I make us some popcorn?" he inquired, that harmless smile on his face.

"All right," she stuttered.

Astrid was tempted to wear a nametag because as patient as she was, it was getting irritating to repeat "Agent Astrid Farnsworth" every fifteen minutes. Her name wasn't "young lady" or "Miss", but she had always been a sucker for a smile and his was no different.

The doctor started the popcorn in a wok as they sat across from each other at the desk. He merely hummed to himself until Peter called on the laboratory sounding frantic; she had no idea what was going on but she did raise her eyebrows when Dr. Bishop if his son had cocaine with him. Sometimes—okay, most of the time he said strange things and just when she thought he couldn't be more bizarre, he'd find a way to top it.

After he hung the phone up again, he did something she hardly expected—he asked her what she thought of him. She decided to take a handful of popcorn while she pondered the best possible thing to say. He waited as she chewed the half popped kernels and finally she decided on something relatively neutral.

"They say that you're this century's Albert Einstein."

He shrugged. "They also say I killed my assistant."

"Did you?" she inquired nervously.

"Semantics," he said before taking a long drink from the mug of milk.

This made Astrid a little uncomfortable, but also curious. It should have been just a yes or no question and he had given her neither.

"I prefer you to the other girl. She's too emotional," he said through a mouthful of popcorn.

"Well, that's how a lot of women are, Dr. Bishop."

"Peter's mother was that way," he said with a certain amount of annoyance and he shook the wok slightly, moving the kernels inside. "You aren't."

This surprised her—she thought that she acted too surprised, though she could hardly be blamed. "I'm emotional. I simply prefer to keep it hidden."

She wondered if she had gotten into his good graces because she had been trying so hard to. Small things like bringing him mugs of coffee, leaving peppermint candies by the microscope,

"You wear a lot of purple," he said, gesturing with his finger towards her sweater.

She looked down at her sleeve and shrugged. "It looks good on me."

"It's a mixture of blue and red," he said rather pointedly and she wondered what exactly he meant.

"Yep."

"That's a good sign," he said, eyeing her sweater once more.

She shook the wok again to stir the kernels and they popped loudly. Dr. Bishop looked quite thoughtful and she had no idea what to say.

"Those who are similar find each other, one way or another." He looked her deep in the eyes. "_Obviously_ the four of us were meant to meet."

"I hadn't thought of it like that," she said as she nibbled on her handful of popcorn.

He jumped up from his seat. "Perhaps you should. This line of work requires a different form of thinking. Tell me, have you ever danced to Charlie Parker?"

"I don't think I have," she stuttered as he wandered over to a phonograph balanced haphazardly on a stack of his old files.

"Then we're lucky I happened to bring this record here, aren't we?"

She felt a little astounded as the sound of trumpets filled the room. "Are you asking me to dance?"

"You know how, don't you?" he inquired, gesturing for her to come to him.

To her disbelief, she found herself leaving the stool. "I haven't in a very long time—"

His hands quickly took hers, placing them in the correct places and he nodded sharply. "That's fine, I'll be leading anyway and I can make sure your form is correct. And you can come closer—I'm not in the mood to bite, you know."

She raised her brows. "You've felt compelled to bite someone before?"

"Of course! Haven't you? Usually it's been in a less than "professional" setting (watch your step) though never with someone as striking as you," he said with a wink.

"I've never wanted to bite someone," she assured.

"Your face is getting red! You're lying!"

"Am not!" she lied.

"I can feel your pulse. It's _pounding_!" he exclaimed in a delighted tone. She jerked her hand away and his face fell. "Oh, don't do that! I'll stop!"

"Promise?" she asked suspiciously.

"You have my word as a gentleman," he assured, the mischievous smile returning to his face.

She gave him back her hand and they returned to the dancing.

"Do you suppose everything in our lives has led up to this?" he asked as he led her in a slight spin.

"To us dancing together in a laboratory?"

"Oh I hadn't thought of that, but it's a good example. All of the decisions you've made as a child and I myself have made as a man have been part of an everlasting equation has resulted in us together this evening, dancing to Charlie Parker." He looked a little distant for a moment then his attention returned to her. "I like that thought. There's a certain romance to it."

"I suppose there is—ooh!" Astrid suddenly grasped at his shoulders as Dr. Bishop took the opportunity tilt her backwards and across his arm.

"I won't drop you. A good lead is always in control," he said matter-of-factly as he looked her straight in the eyes.

The dip was very low, and Astrid realized she was entirely supported by his arm; he had bent her past her center of balance and that meant she had to rely and trust.

"Do you understand, young lady?" he inquired, his head inclining slightly.

"Do you teach lessons to all your assistants like this?" she asked finally.

He pulled her back up and grinned. "I've never had one so pretty before and I thought you might appreciate it."

"Well, it's certainly _different_," she admitted.

_Different_ was a complete understatement. Firstly, she was dancing, something she never did anymore. Secondly, she was doing this in a laboratory, where a prostitute's dead body lay on a gurney next to a newborn that had died of old age. Third, she was doing this with a man who had been put away in an institution for manslaughter. There had been nothing in the job description even close to this when Olivia had offered her the opportunity to work alongside her with the Bishop men.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed as he stepped on her toes heavily.

He had left her standing there as he hurried over to the desk, searching around for something.

"Sorry! I just remembered something very important—take a note please—oh, how delightful!" He looked down at the desk. "Someone's made popcorn!"

She felt like she was working in a whirlwind, where topics changed too quickly to really focus on. "You did, Dr. Bishop."

"Really? I don't recall!" he looked her over, the amused smile still on his face. "And who are you, young lady?"

Astrid sighed—maybe the nametags weren't such a bad idea after all.

* * *

**A/N: **_Wow, I swear I had no idea that the story was going to take that turn. Dancing to Charlie Parker is probably one of the most romantic things I've ever done, but I needed some filler for this chapter and I thought I would toss it in, though nothing romantic is being implied yet._


	20. Sheep Go to Heaven, Goats Go to Hell

**Chapter Title: **_Sheep Go To Heaven, Goats Go to Hell_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour_

**Chapter Rating:** _T_

**Chapter Notes: **_Stuck in traffic on a trip to the FBI headquarters, Walter tries to impart some of his wisdom on the three kids._

**Takes Place: **_the day after 1.09_

**Song: **_"Sheep Go to Heaven, Goats Go to Hell," by Cake_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_When the grave digger puts on the forceps,_

_The stonemason does all the work,_

_The barber can give you a haircut,_

_The carpenter can take you out to lunch,_

_Now, I just want to play on my panpipes,_

_I just want to drink me some wine,_

_As soon as you're born, you start dying,_

_So you might as well have a good time"_

* * *

Walter was getting impatient from having to sit still for so long and he had already managed to break two of the coloured pencils Astringent had given him—there was no way in hell he was going to draw anything without the colours blue or green. So here he was, sitting in the backseat of the blonde's government vehicle—behind Peter, beside Asteroid—in a terrible case of midday traffic. It was only supposed to be a few minutes' drive to the FBI field office and now they were gridlocked, which was leading to much tension in the SUV.

Peter was in the front passenger seat, flirting with blonde Olivia. "Thanks again for letting us take your car, Liv. The Vista Cruiser—"

"Doesn't have the ass warmer!" Walter happily crowed, tossing his sketchpad to the floor.

The girl next to him giggled and he grinned at her. Peter sighed loudly and Walter decided that his assistant was a far better companion to have in the car.

"It's called a seat warmer, Walter. And don't interrupt me while I'm talking with Olivia," his son chastised, sounding very irritated.

"We should only be a few more minutes, everyone," the blonde said, obviously lying because traffic wasn't budging.

"Peter, we need to get a car with ass warmers. And more cup holders." Walter looked over at the young lady sitting to his left. "You can never have too many cup holders, my dear."

She smiled kindly. "I'll remember that, Dr. Bishop."

"I remember once when I was Atlantic City I had accidentally ordered a fruit cup at a conference dinner. They were holding the conference, which was on virology, in a nice casino so I could hear the slot machines from the restaurant. I'm not a fruit cup kind of guy."

Asthma nodded. "You've told me that story before."

This surprised him. "Have I? I didn't realise."

"Does that story have a point?" Peter asked from the front seat.

He made a face. "What story?"

Olivia and Peter groaned and Astasia gave him another amused smile as she retrieved the sketchpad off the floorboard. The radio was playing faintly and Walter decided he wanted to try starting another conversation.

"Oh, I _love_ this song," Walter gushed.

"You've never heard it before," Peter snapped.

"How do you know?" the doctor snapped right back.

"Why would you be listening to Miley Cyrus, Walter? And they just said that this song is new. You haven't listened to the radio since you've been out of St. Claire's."

"We're changing the topic!" the blonde announced in a loud and angry manner.

Aspirin seemed nervous about the tension in the car, so she made an attempt at getting everyone at ease again. "Okay. Agent Dunham, what kind of summer jobs did you have while you were in high school?"

"I bagged groceries at the local market. The pay was terrible, but I got to take home the food that had reached its expiration date. I also did a very short lived stint as a lifeguard at the city pool, but I neglected sunscreen on the first day and couldn't return to work because I was the colour of a tomato, so I was fired." The blonde turned around to look back over her shoulder. "Your turn, Astrid."

"I worked at the local blood bank and my job was to stick the IV needles into the arm," the curly haired girl said.

Walter was amazed that the young lady had had such an amazing occupation and leaned over across the front seat to look at his son.

"Isn't that interesting, Peter? Phlebotomy? If you did that this summer, you could make some extra money and it would look good on your college applications!" he said excitedly.

Peter gave him a very irritated look. "Walter, I'm not enrolling in college."

"Then why have you been driving to Harvard every day, hmm? Not just to visit your father I hope! I'm sure I could pull some strings and get you into a few fun classes like biochemistry and beginner's French—"

Asterisk's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Dr. Bishop? Peter is thirty."

"Oh. Oh." He sat back in his seat, thinking about what she had said for a moment and had to admit, "That's much older than I remembered him being much younger, but now that you mention it..."

"Mmm hmm," she said, handing his sketchpad back to him.

"An apple a day keeps the doctor away, lamb," he informed, tearing out a page so that he could make origami for her.

"Walter, stop flirting with her!"

"I'm not! I'm giving her good advice." He turned back to her. "You know why they say that, don't you?"

She shook her head, which made her curls bounce. "Why?"

"There is enough cyanide in an apple's seeds to help fight off the start of cancerous cells. Did you know that there used to be a medicine to fight cancer made out of apple seeds and peach kernels? It was a highly successful treatment using amygdalin, found in crushed apricot pits and of course the highly flavourful _Malus domestica._ If you ever get cancer, I would happily make it for you."

"Thank you, Dr. Bishop," Astral said.

"A sea horse," he murmured, passing the folded origami over to her.

She held in between her fingers and studied it. "Thank you."

"Oh, thank you, sweet merciful Jesus!" Olivia shouted and the vehicle began to move once more.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ The song mentioned by Walter is "I Thought I Lost You," by Miley Cyrus which I heard this morning and I thought would be a funny choice. _


	21. Proud Music of the Storm

**Chapter Title: **_Proud Music of the Storm_

**Chapter Genre:** _Spooky!_

**Chapter Rating:** _G_

**Chapter Notes: **_Takes place before Walter runs off with Beacon._

**Takes Place: **_during 1.04 "The Arrival"_

**Poem: **_"Proud Music of the Storm" by Walt Whitman_

**Disclaimer:** _Don't own this. Duh._

* * *

"_Then I woke softly,_

_And pausing, questioning awhile the music of my dream,_

_And questioning all those reminiscences, the tempest in its fury,_

_And all the songs of sopranos and tenors,"_

* * *

Astrid was completely paralised as she looked at the photos spread out on the table.

It was **him**. It was the man she had sat next to on the bus on her first day here.

'_This can't be. There's no way this can be the person they're looking for—I __**know**__ him!'_

She wanted to tell Dr. Bishop, confess that she knew the man in the photo, too. He was shouting at Peter, who seemed a little taken aback by the outburst and while she would normally try to act as a buffer between the father and son, she was in shock. The bald man's words played over and over and over in her head.

_You have nothing to be worried about. The job will be a perfect fit._

_You have nothing to be worried about. The job will be a perfect fit._

_YOU HAVE NOTHING TO BE WORIED ABOUT. THE JOB WILL BE A PERFECT FIT._

She could hardly focus on what was being said, but Peter's calmed voice brought her out of her thoughts.

"I'm going to go get your aluminum foil and when I come back, you're going to tell me what the hell is going on."

Dr. Bishop's jaw was working as he spoke. "While you're out, if you see the chance to get me a root beer float, that would be wonderful."

Peter looked a little stunned, but the annoyance returned just a quick and he said tensely, "I'll see what I can do."

Peter left and she moved around over to where Dr. Bishop was, trying to keep the tremour out of her hands. She could trust him with this information, she could trust that he would know the right thing to do. She tried to stop her shaky breathing—she could **trust** him. Astrid started to open her mouth to spill her secret, but Dr. Bishop spoke first.

"Could you be a lamb…and hand me that syringe?"

* * *

_**A/N:**__ The poem quote is actually a reference to Walter's POV; he mentioned in 1.04's notes that he felt he was experiencing a storm, so I thought the reference to music and tumultuous weather was perfect._

_Plus, did any of you notice how shifty her eyes are during this scene right before Peter leaves? _

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ Peter's going to mess the Observer/September up._


	22. Feed Your Head

**Chapter Title: **_"Feed Your Head"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Drugs, humour, Peter?_

**Chapter Rating:** _MA due to discussion of drug use_

**Chapter Notes: **_Walter makes a concoction in his chemistry set with fumes that act as a mild hallucinogen. Hijinx ensue as Walter and Astrid go on a trip. With guest appearance of Peter's POV!_

**Takes Place: **_after 1.09_

**Song: **_"White Rabbit" as preformed by the Blue Man Group featuring Esthero _

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_When men on the chessboard_

_Get up and tell you where to go_

_And you've just had some kind of mushroom_

_And your mind is moving slow_

_Go ask Alice_

_I think she'll know"_

* * *

The room stirred in a whirl of colours, beautiful and pulsating. Everything was suddenly so beautiful and alive and Walter had never been happier to be alive. He swayed happily, allowing his hands to flop about to a tune he had begun to hum.

"Why have I never noticed these colours before? I am transfixed, besotted, awestruck!" he sung peacefully and a girl with curly hair appeared next to him, looking just as blissful as he felt.

"I want to worship these colours," she purred and he nodded.

"Me, too." He made a face and then looked back at her. "Wait, who are you?"

She placed her hands on her hips and looked at him reprovingly. "ASTRID. I'm an assistant."

He shook his head. "That cannot possibly be. I would remember if my assistant was as pretty as you."

Her hand went up to her hair to play with a curl as she gave a shy smile. "You think I'm pretty?"

"Absolutely. Why, no one could look finer in a lab coat and protective eyewear," he said as charmingly as he could manage.

She giggled and he grinned.

"But seriously, my dear, who are you? I simply can't have any and everybody running around my lab willy-nilly," he chastised, very firm about the matter—he had standards, after all!

"I'm supposed to help you. And watch you, of course."

This made him curious. "Oh, are you a student here?"

"No, an assistant."

"This is tiresome. You aren't my assistant and you say you're not a student. Adorable as you are, I must ask you to leave. I simply can't have distractions in my laboratory," he scolded, trying to shoo her out of the room.

"I'm not leaving," she said firmly and he shrugged.

"Are these pinwheels making you dizzy?" he asked as the whirling of sudden paper pinwheels filled the room.

"I'm getting vertigo! And it looks like tie-dye!" she squealed.

"I've got the perfect record for this. I can't believe I didn't think of this earlier!" he scrambled to play the psychedelic album he had stashed away in one of the desk drawers.

Powerful riffs of music blared from the phonographs trumpet flower and the girl began to clap her hands.

"This song is about drugs!" she practically screamed.

He started to do the Charleston. "This brings back memories of flower power and buckskin vests that had fringe down to the knees."

Her hands spun above her head. "They say if you remember the 60's, you weren't there."

"How true!" Her brown hair looked like a glowing halo and he wondered if he were to blow on it, it would float away, like a dandelion. "What is your name?"

"Asterisk."

"Fit for a queen," he sighed.

She smiled and twirled a bit, singing along with the record. "Rememmmberrrrrr! What the dormouse _saaaaaaaaaid_!"

* * *

Peter and Olivia entered the laboratory together, absolutely worn out from tracking down a lead on the Observer, which of course, had turned up nothing. He wanted nothing more than to just sit down, but knowing Walter, he'd probably start hounding him with questions—

Wait.

Where was Walter? And for that matter, where was Astrid?

A lone Bunsen burner next to all the chemistry gear was burning, but there was no sign of human life within the room. Jefferson Airplane was playing faintly and the same song was repeating over and over. Peter could sense Olivia's hand moving to her holster.

"Walter? Astrid?" he called out, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread come over him.

"We're in space!" Astrid called out.

"Where are you?" he called out again, now just confused.

"She just told you, son! In space!" his father answered this time.

Olivia pointed to the large tank being used for synaptic relay on the half floor below them. "It sounds like they're coming from inside the tank."

They hurried down the steps. Peter looked briefly at the note taped to the tank, which read, "Watch your hands, heavy doors! Save your fingers, close with care." He grumbled and took hold of the door's handle.

"What the hell—"

There sat Walter and Astrid in about an inch and half of the salty brine water that hadn't been completely drained. His father grinned while shielding his eyes. "Come in! Come in! There's plenty of room! But be quick! You're letting all the light in!"

"No shoes!" Astrid added frantically.

Olivia didn't hesitate removing her shoes and so Peter felt obligated to do the same. He was apprehensive at how willing she was to just jump into a situation, but he didn't want her to be alone in whatever the hell this was. They both climbed into the tank and partially shut the heavy doors.

"What are we _doing_ in here?" Peter asked, not amused to be crouching in now-wet socks.

This sent both Walter and Astrid into a round of giggling as they looked at one another.

"We're in _space_, Peter," Walter said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Okay, what the hell are you talking about? Why are we sitting in here, in the dark, in lukewarm water?" he snapped.

"We're **deep** thinking," Astrid said and Peter realised she was sitting a lotus position as though she were meditating.

Olivia made a face at her assistant. "Are you high?"

"High in the sky!" Astrid cried happily.

Peter pointed an accusing finger at his father. "Walter, did you inject her with anything?"

"No! We were working on making, ehm, _something_ and then we got the brilliant idea to come in here."

"It was my idea," Astrid said, patting Peter on the hand.

Walter smiled fondly at her. "Not possible, my dear. I'm the scientist. I thought of it."

Olivia pushed the doors back open. "Okay, both of you are out of your minds. C'mon. Let's get out of here."

Peter led his father out, whose lower half was soaking wet. "Walter, what were you doing when you decided to climb into the tank?"

"**I** decided! It was **my** idea!" Astrid insisted as Olivia helped her out.

Walter looked pensive for a moment then pointed to the lone Bunsen burner that was on. "I was making…hmm…ah! I was doing something with that flask over there!"

"Well, whatever it was has burned out completely—whew! The smell is making me light headed," Peter said, recoiling from the flask.

"My pants are wet," Astrid declared, looking a little disgusted.

"So are mine," Walter added sadly. "And I don't know what with."

Peter gave an exasperated sigh.

* * *

It took about two hours for the full effect of the hallucinogen to wear off and Peter could see that neither Walter nor Astrid were pleased to return to reality. But while they sobered up, it gave him time to determine what exactly his father had been cooking up.

"Nitrous oxide. That's what you guys were breathing," he determined.

Walter, now wearing a fresh pair of trousers that Peter kept around for just such emergencies, was looking into his mug of coffee, stirring the cream with his finger. "I must have become disoriented before I could realise what was happening. And that young lady was standing awfully close while she took notes."

Astrid was sitting at the desk, leaning her head into her hands, looking absolutely miserable. "I have the worst headache. Ever. I think I hit my head on the tank."

Olivia probed her scalp with her fingers. "I do feel a lump."

Astrid winced. "Oww."

Walter sighed loudly. "An afternoon wasted. Enjoyably, but wasted none the less. And who put on Jefferson Airplane?"

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Once again I was cruising in my iTunes library and I came across "White Rabbit." How could I pass that up? Plus, Walter's comment about liking drugs made me think that if you were ever to get high with someone, he would be the man. But on a serious note, I do not condone drug usage. Nitrous oxide can be used as a dissociative drug, which reduce/block signals__ to the conscious mind from other parts of the brain, typically the physical senses. Throw that person into something like the tank and they're more like to experience self-exploration, hallucinations, and dreamlike states of mind._


	23. What Shall I Give?

**Chapter Title:**_ "What Shall I Give?"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour, Candy!_

**Chapter Rating:** _M? for reference to Walter's "uh oh" statement in 1.09_

**Chapter Notes:**_ Astrid doesn't approve of what Walter said to Olivia before she got into the tank._

**Takes Place: **_at the end of 1.09 before Liv shows up at the Bishop's hotel room_

**Poem: **_"Miracles" by Walt Whitman_

**Disclaimer: **_No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_Realism is mine—my miracles—Take freely,_

_Take without end—I offer them to you wherever your_

_feet can carry you, or your eyes reach"_

* * *

Olivia had left with Peter to pick up early dinner for the rest of them at the Thai food place a few blocks over, which left Astrid with Dr. Bishop once more. He was playing with the notes he'd had her take on the synaptic activity Olivia experienced while channeling herself. Her movement as she came over to must have caught his eye and he looked up at her.

"I certainly startled her, didn't I?" he asked mischievously and she knew exactly what he was talking about.

Astrid crossed her arms and frowned. "Yes, you did. And it wasn't appropriate—she's not used to you saying those sorts of things."

He grumbled slightly and shuffled his papers around. She took it as her cue to continue.

"What would Peter have said if he heard you talking like that, hmm?"

He set his papers down and tossed them dramatically over to the desk where his typewriter was located instead of simply carrying them. "I assure you, he would be happy—oh. You're worried I'll say something offensive to Olivia in front of Peter."

She smiled. "Exactly."

"Because he's smitten with her," he added.

"Now, I didn't say that," she immediately corrected, feeling embarrassed for having implied that his son was having a relationship with Olivia.

"Then you wouldn't think Peter would care."

"He would whether he liked Agent Dunham or not."

"If I said something like that to you—"

"Which you have," she pointed out.

"—then he would be embarrassed for himself. But if I said something like that to the blonde, then he would be embarrassed for her. There is a big difference. You look tense," he declared quite suddenly.

She sighed and leaned her elbows forward on the desk. "It's been a long day."

"I know. I'm tired, too."

His hand rested on the back of her neck and she was shocked as he started kneading his hand against the muscle.

"Um, thank you," she said nervously.

"For what?"

"For rubbing my neck."

"Oh, I hadn't noticed!" he exclaimed cheerfully, but didn't pull away.

She wasn't comfortable with him touching her so close to where he had stabbed a needle in not too long ago. She squirmed slightly under his hand and he pulled away obviously realising she didn't want to be touched.

* * *

He sat at the typewriter, humming along to the Charlie Parker album while she checked her cell phone for any missed calls or messages. None. That guy she had had dinner with over weekend had never called her back and she suspected he wouldn't.

"Spell check!" Dr. Bishop yelled out, sounding amused and she rolled her eyes, knowing he couldn't see her.

"My name's **not** Astringent," she said pointedly as she leaned over his shoulder to read the paper.

He didn't seem to care. "I want gumdrops. Purple ones, because the green ones are disgusting. As are the red."

"I don't have any gumdrops. And you didn't have any spelling errors," she concluded, taking the paper from him so she could file it away.

He crossed his arms. "Then I want something from The Drawer."

"The Drawer" was in one of the file cabinets in Agent Dunham's office and was filled with candy that Peter had prohibited his father from eating without supervision. Gums, taffy, pop rocks, soft caramels, Abba Zabbas, and apparently Reeses because of an obscene comment were just a few of the many sweeties that remained locked up in the drawer, much to Dr. Bishop's frustration.

She thought for a moment then said, "Only one."

He shook his head. "Two and I'll let you have one, too."

"Fine," she agreed, not in the mood to argue.

They went to the office and sat on the floor next to the file cabinet; she unlocked the drawer, which he promptly began rooting through.

"How'd this get in there?" he wondered aloud as he held up a fortune cookie. "Would you like it?"

She took the cookie from him and tore open the wrapper while he poured two straws of pixie stix into his mouth. "Thank you."

She watched him eat the messy combination of coloured sugar while she ate the cookie, then decided to read the small fortune that had been tucked inside.

"Stop searching forever, happiness is next to you," she read aloud and Dr. Bishop nodded.

When he spoke his tongue was stained bright blue. "What could be happier than a drawer full of candy?"

* * *

_**A/N:**__ I had Panda Express for dinner last night and that was my fortune! I was like, "wtf?" then when I was writing this chapter, I thought, "I need her fortune to say something cool," but I couldn't think of anything, so she and I are sharing fortunes._

_And the poem? I'm sure that Walter considers candy to be a miracle worthy of sharing!_

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ Chuck is going to get kidnapped!_


	24. A Groovy Kind of Love

**Chapter Title:**_ A Groovy Kind of Love_

**Chapter Genre:** _Comedy_

**Chapter Rating:**_ PG_

**Chapter Notes:**_ Walter confronts Peter on the obvious._

**Dedicated to:**_ NomDuClavier—you'll know why, homie :)_

**Takes Place: **_before 1.10_

**Song: **_"A Groovy Kind of Love" as sung by the Mindbenders_

**Disclaimer:** _Don't own any of this :(_

* * *

"_Anytime you want to,_

_You can turn me onto,_

_Anything you want to,_

_Anytime at all._

_When I taste your lips,_

_Oh, I start to shiver,_

_Can't control the,_

_Quivering inside._

_Wouldn't you agree,_

_Baby, you and me,_

_Got a groovy kind of love?_

_(Got a groovy kind of love.)_

_We got a groovy kind of love.__**"**_

* * *

"You like her?"

Peter looked up from the wiring he had been busy soldering. "Huh?"

"You like her. The blonde one," Walter repeated, pointing towards the office that the FBI agent was currently working in.

"Olivia?" Peter's eyebrows lifted.

"Yes, Olivia. You like her."

"Well, she's someone I'd consider a friend—"

"No, that's not what I meant and you know it. She's someone you'd like to get back to the hotel room and—"

"Walter," Peter interrupted. "Don't talk about her like that. Or me."

He set down the papers in his hands. "I didn't mean it like that! I was trying to point out that you've—

"Don't say it—" Peter warned.

"—grown so close to her—

"Don't say it, Walter—" he growled.

"—and it's obvious that you're attracted to her," he finished, straightening the stack of papers he was toying with.

"Just stop talking. _Please_," his son begged

"I just want to make sure she doesn't break your heart."

Peter looked vaguely horrified. "Oh my god. Are you giving me a father-son talk?"

"I believe I am!" Walter said, feeling excited.

The door to the office opened and Olivia walked out, stretching her arms. "What's going on out here?" she asked. "Anything interesting?"

Peter did in fact light up at the sight of the blonde as he replied, "It appears my dad thinks you and I have a playground crushes on one another."

"I know you have a way with women, Peter," he said matter of factly, because, in fact, it was true.

Olivia gave them an uncomfortable look. "There's nothing going on between us."

Walter frowned. "Of course there is."

"Oh and I'm sure now you're going to tell me that you don't have a crush on Astrid," Peter challenged.

Walter's mind drew a blank at the name. "Astrid?"

"Olivia's assistant."

"Hardly!" he scoffed,

"If anyone's sweet on a co-worker, it's you, Walter," Olivia added, obviously amused.

"Not true!"

"Who's Dr. Bishop sweet on?"

Walter turned around to see that Astringent had returned with a big brown paper bag containing their lunch. In all honesty, right now she was the last person he wanted to bring into the conversation.

"You. When we're driving home he talks like you hung the moon," Peter said with a smirk.

Walter eyed his son critically. "That's stupid Peter. The moon doesn't hang—it's held in a gravitational field that earth creates."

His son rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know Walter. It's an expression."

"Olivia hangs your moon," he retorted, feeling embarrassed.

The assistant's wide eyes suggested she wasn't about to let the subject go. "What do you say about me?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you say about me?" she repeated, looking slightly alarmed.

Walter dragged his fingers across his lips as though he were zipping them shut, but Peter didn't seem to take the hint and said gleefully, "He talks about your hair, and your sweaters, and what lunch you bring in for the two of you, what kind of candy you left at his microscope. And," his son's smile broadened, "he says you're an _excellent_ dancer."

The girl's face became a brilliant red and she hurried over to the cow.

"Now you've embarrassed her! Have you no manners?" Walter snapped before he left the two.

Artemis was busying herself with the salt lick at Gene's stall, acting as though he weren't there.

"Be a lamb and sit with me," he begged and she joined him on the steps, still not looking him at him directly.

For once he welcomed the silence between them and waited until he heard Peter and Olivia's voices fade into the office.

"You're embarrassed," he said quietly, hands resting on his knees, feeling the thick wale of the corduroy.

"No," she said nervously.

"Yes, you are. Your pupils have dilated, your breathing has changed and I'm sure if I felt your wrist, your pulse would be pounding."

She let out a sigh. "I hate being made fun of."

"Especially when someone's just trying to further a point. He learned that from his mother," Walter said sadly. "It's all right, Miss. They'll forget."

"I hope so." Her face turned to his. "How did the three of you get on that topic anyway?"

"I was pointing out that Peter likes Olivia."

At this she lit up. "Oh, totally."

"And that she likes him back," he continued.

"Completely."

"And that neither of them will admit to it," he finished.

"Definitely. They are the definition of denial," she said, an amused smile on her face.

"As if I have secret feelings for you," he scoffed, delighted she could think as logically as him.

"Yeah right," she snorted.

Walter was happy to be in her good graces once more, so he smiled at her and placed his hand on her shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. "I knew you'd agree. You're a good friend, Astroglide."

* * *

_**A/N:**__ lulz to Walter for calling Peter/Olivia out!_

_Plus, omgomgomgomg did you guys see how Liv and Peter were ttly daring one another to do stuff in 1.10 in the bar? And how neither could back down from a challenge? :D Sound familiar?! Like "He Said It Many Times" familiar?! O SNAP._

_Probably the last TLIA update until the new shows are up, but you can check my live journal for status and the upcoming first TLIA soundtrack, featuring my photoshopping skillz! Link in my profile._

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ Peter is going to enlist the help of The Observer to get Liv back, in which they will lay waste to Loeb and his cronies via swift karate and Uzis all while quoting Pulp Fiction's Ezekiel 25:17. Go ahead, JJ Abrams, you can take it._


	25. A Pulse, Your Pulse

**Chapter Title: **_A Pulse, Your Pulse, It's the Only Thing I Can Remember_

**Chapter Genre:** _Romance_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG for blood_

**Chapter Notes:**_ Walter and Astrid's relationship in the lab takes a turn._

**Takes Place: **_before 1.10_

**Song: **_"If There's a Rocket Tie Me to It" by Snow Patrol_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_Two weeks later like a surplus reprieve._

_I found a hair the length of yours on my sleeve,_

_I wound it round and round my finger so tight._

_It turned to purple and a pulse formed in sight,_

_And I knew the beat cause it matched your own beat._

_I still remember that from our chest to chest then feet to feet._

_The easy silence then was a sweet relief to this hush,_

_Of oven airplanes and of distant car points._

* * *

"**Shit!**" Astrid cried out as her scalpel cut deeply into her left index fingertip.

Blood blossomed from the soft skin as the sharp instrument felt to the floor with a metallic clang. She clutched at her finger, the blood pooling onto her other hand and she looked up at Dr. Bishop, feeling incredibly helpless as the pain began to register.

Dr. Bishop looked up from the lab rats they were busy dissecting. "Ah yes, it appears I'll need to muck out Gene's stall again—you're bleeding!"

"The scalpel—" she started.

"Don't move—" he instructed as he swung around.

"I'll find a bandage—" she insisted as she pivoted to avoid the corner of the desk.

"I—" he said as he pulled off his goggles.

"Oops!" she said as she walked straight into him.

But instead of moving away, he backed her against the desk, taking her upheld hand in his.

"Hold still," he instructed as he studied her finger. Her breath hitched as he slid the toe of his shoe just inside the arch of hers. Was he leaning in towards her?

"What do we need to make this better?" he asked, his voice unusually soft and his eyes moved up to hers.

She simply _wasn't_ thinking as she answered. "A kiss?"

"Of course," he said brightly.

"I—"

His hands clasped her and his lips touched against the scarlet, wet fingertip. She wondered what to think as his eyes shut momentarily then opened to look up at her as he pulled back.

"All better?" he murmured.

"I need a bandage," she breathed.

He glanced down at his sleeve, his hands still holding hers between them. "You got your DNA on my lab coat."

Astrid looked at the blotch of red that had dropped onto the pristine white. "We have stain remover in the office. Peter made me buy extra because of all the mess—"

"It looks like a little heart," he interrupted.

"I didn't mean for you to kiss my finger. I wasn't thinking," she blurted out.

"When Peter cried, a kiss on the forehead made it all better." A confused look crossed his face and he suddenly exclaimed. "That's not science!"

She smiled weakly. "No, it's not."

"But it works." He then looked a little surprised. "You're **bleeding**."

She nodded and pulled her hands from his. "I need a bandage."

"Maybe stitches." His eyes lit up. "I'm very quick at them. Peter can vouch for that."

By now the amount of blood was beginning to concern her. "Okay, okay. I just need something quick."

"A needle! For stitches! To sew up! Her finger! So she'll stop bleeding! All over! A little **heart**!" he sang happily as he left her to go find the supplies he needed.

She picked up the dropped scalpel and set it on the metal instrument tray with shaking hands. Astrid took a few breaths, trying to steady herself and she sat up on the edge of the desk. He returned to her, holding up a needle from a sewing kit and a long white glacé strand of thread. She lowered her eyes as he stood in front of her, her knees against his thighs, and slipped her hand palm up into his, offering herself to his knowledge and ability. Indeed he was meticulous and quick with the stitches and her finger was sealed back up, though still completely bloody.

She finally looked up that the doctor and he smiled at her, the red of her blood on his lips. She wondered if he realised it was there. His hand reached out and for an electrifying moment, she thought he was going to cup her face.

And she wanted it.

But he simply plucked a small fluff of white lab rat fur out of her hair and she realised she was holding her breath. He blew the fuzz off his fingertip and together they watched it float in the air before she turned her attention back to him.

"Does it hurt?" he asked lazily, as though he really didn't care.

"Not anymore," she said, shaking her head slightly.

He gave her a satisfied smile. "I'm glad I could help."

She couldn't help but sound a little infatuated as she replied, "Me, too."

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Chapter 25 for December 25__th__ :)_

_Go to my livejournal to get the second part of this Christmas present!_

_Random Fringe Prediction: Broyles is an observer!!!_


	26. Oh, What a Dream

**Chapter Title: **_Oh, What a Dream_

**Chapter Genre:** _General_

**Chapter Rating:** _G_

**Chapter Notes: **_Walter has a dream that makes more sense than a normal day in the lab._

**Takes Place: **_The morning of 1.11 "Bound"_

**Song: **_"Oh, What a Dream" by Ruth Brown_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

**

* * *

**

****

_"Woke up this morning and I looked around_

_So disappointed, I laid back down_

_Oh, what a dream, what a dream_

_I had last night_

_Dreamed I held you in my arms_

_But I'm still waitin' for that day to come"_

* * *

Walter lay in his bed and he could honestly say this was the first time he had ever woken up with a question he wasn't sure he wanted to pursue an answer to. The light to the hotel room's bathroom was on, but his "bedroom" was still dark and he liked it like that. He could hear his son brushing his teeth and grumbling to himself, which meant he was in a good mood, because Peter angry usually involved him slamming things around and stomping.

Walter pulled the blankets up over the bottom half of his face so that his nose poked over the top.

The young lady with the exceptionally curly hair had been in his dream and at the moment that thought was making him smile into the top sheet of his covers, which made him feel a little odd. In the dream she had been helping him with one of the old projects he had successfully completed for Kelvin Genetics, a manipulation of genes using a knotane DNA structure. He wriggled his toes as he thought about the beautiful charts he'd drawn out across walls that seemed to go on forever. He'd made them out with charcoal, crayons, and fingerpaint, the numbers and symbols swirling and trembling elegantly.

Walter smiled and rubbed his rumbling stomach through his pyjama top. This dream had so many fascinating and wonderful aspects, like an unusually cut garnet or topaz and he was excited to recall every moment—

Wearing lab coats over Greek togas (which sounded very comfortable right now), they'd had golden wreathes in their hair and she had been taking notes on a gold tablet, scribing everything he said with a glass stylus. He rubbed at his temples while he tried to remember what he had been saying…

Walter let out a triumphant noise as he recalled it, muffled by the comforter. He had been reciting the recipe of root beer in Latin and she had been repeating it back in form of song, one that sounded eerily similar to "Ave Maria." Which had been beautiful…perhaps he could convince her to give it a go?

"Mental note: have the young lady sing the song in Latin."

"Walter! Who are you talking to?" Peter's head peeked around the side of the doorframe, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You're not on the phone are you?"

He pulled the blankets down to uncover his mouth. "Just speaking to myself," he assured.

Peter looked at him suspiciously then said, "Well, you need to get ready for the morning. I've already showered, so you can take your time in the bathroom."

"Red Peter, white for Walter," he said as he sat up and stretched his arms.

"Yeah." Peter gave him a slight smile. "I'll make us breakfast."

"Eggs over-easy! I like watching the yolk spill out when you pierce the outside; it reminds me of what happens when you take a lab monkey and—"

Peter cut him off. "Yeah, that sounds like it's going to be gross, Walter. Keep those thoughts to yourself and take your shower."

"Oh, what a dream! I had last night!" he sang as he undressed on his way to the bathroom.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ I've missed these little chapters more than I realised! It's good to be back!_

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ Chuck's going to try to help more on the Fringe cases. And maybe use the magic eight ball that showed up on Olivia's desk._


	27. Cause You're Mine

**Chapter Title: _Cause You're Mine_**

**Chapter Genre:** _General, Family/Friendship, Romance_

**Chapter Rating:** _G_

**Chapter Notes: **_Astrid and Walter have breakfast together at IHOP._

**Takes Place: **_Day after 1.11 "Bound"_

**Song: **_"Chocolate Raspberry Lemon & Lime" by Muscles_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)w_

* * *

"_I wish that I could keep you in my pocket_

_So I could play with you all the time!_

_Wrap you up in a little blanket_

_Chocolate, raspberry, lemon, and lime!_

_Cause you're mine!"_

* * *

Walter Bishop sat across from her at one of the brightly lit booths in the IHOP a block away from campus. Astrid was watching him literally stuff his face with his breakfast and mouth smeared with a mixture of blueberry syrup, strawberry syrup, and bacon grease.

"These waffles are amazing," he said through a mouthful of food. "They're Belgian, you say?"

"That's what the menu said," she said a little amused.

He looked at the walls and the ceiling, then at the waitress passing by. "It was very nice of Peter to allow us to come here."

It was true. Peter said he felt sorry for cooping Astrid up with his father while he and Olivia were to be debriefed on the events of the day previous. Astrid nodded fervently.

"I know. Pass me the pepper."

Dr. Bishop poked at her food with his fork. "How are your eggs?"

"Good," she said as she reached for the pepper herself. "And the pancakes are good, too. Would you like a bite?"

He stabbed a few cut pieces onto his fork and studied the creamy topping. "I like peanut butter."

"Me, too."

He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "What if it had been you?"

She frowned, unsure what he was talking about. "What do you mean?"

He swallowed the pancake bite. "What if it had been you that had been kidnapped, instead of Olivia?"

Astrid was more than a little stunned at the unexpected question.

"I would have missed you. Very much," he said softly as he poured yet more syrup onto his Belgian waffles.

She smiled and cut into her pancakes. "I would have missed you, too, Walter."

His pale eyes locked onto hers. "I mean it. Peter can hardly stand me and Olivia would never buy me pancakes. She's _using_ me, you know."

"Yeah. She just wants to find out what John Scott was up to, though," she said, trying to put the other woman in a better light.

"And Peter has so much love for her." He sighed. "I wish some of it was for me, but at least it's going somewhere, right?"

"Peter loves you," she protested.

He licked the syrup off his fingers. "And you love me."

Astrid's eyes widened and she swore her heart stopped. "Walter—"

"It is love," he insisted and she realised she had no idea how she was going to explain herself to him.

These feelings weren't intentional and she was doing her best to keep them at bay, but she couldn't help it if—

"A way to a man's heart is through his stomach," he said and a teasing grin came onto his face.

Her hand went to her chest and she became aware that she had been holding her breath. "Oh my god! You were joking! I thought you were serious!"

He nodded and reached across the table to grab a handful of the scrambled eggs on her plate.

"More peanut butter pancakes, please!" he shouted out to the waitress passing by.


	28. I Swear I've Seen the Darkness

**Chapter Title: **_I Swear I've Seen the Darkness_

**Chapter Genre:** _lite!Angst_

**Chapter Rating:** _G_

**Chapter Notes: **_Walter's view of a scene_

**Takes Place: **_morning after 1.12_

**Song: **_"Satellites" by Doves_

**Disclaimer:** No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)

* * *

"_I want you to notice_

_My anger's all but done_

_And all I've known is madness_

_Satellites ahead_

_So hold on_

_For seven nights I slept_

_So come on"_

* * *

Carla.

Carla Warren.

Carla Warren with the beautiful smile.

Walter felt calm, absolute stillness within himself for the first time in years as her sweet name echoed softly in his mind over and over. The young lady who spent time in the lab with him now, the one with the gloriously curly hair, sat next to him on the steps of the laboratory. His head rest on her shoulder and she had handed him a white cloth handkerchief that surprisingly enough smelt of hyacinths, his third favourite flower.

"I'm getting your sweater wet," he whispered softly as the warm tears continued to slide down his face and onto the soft blue cashmere of this morning's clothes.

"That's what the handkerchief is for," she whispered back and he could hear the smile in her voice.

"You're too good to me," he murmured before he made a loud snort into the white cloth.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Holy cow, I thought that Mrs. Warren was Peter's mum and I panicked. It's too soon in the series to know that!!!!_

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ Liv's sister is going to keep putting the moves on Peter :P_


	29. But Someone's Left Me Creased

**Chapter Title: **_But Someone's Left Me Creased_

**Chapter Genre:** _lite!Angst_

**Chapter Rating:** _G_

**Chapter Notes: **_Astrid's view of a scene_

**Takes Place: **_morning after 1.12_

**Song: **_"Good Man is Hard to Find" by Sufjan Stevens_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_Once in the backyard,_

_she was once like me,_

_she was once like me._

_Twice when I killed them,_

_they were once at peace,_

_they were once like me."_

* * *

Carla.

Carla Warren.

Carla Warren the dead lab assistant.

Astrid felt…awkward. It probably had to do with the letter from two days before thought it might have to do with Dr. Bishop's eerily quiet personality. Right now they were sitting together on the steps of the laboratory's lower level while Peter was in the office talking with Olivia, giving them a momentary privacy that she had slowly become accustomed to. With the way Peter and Olivia went running off at a moment's notice, Astrid was finding that she spent more time alone with Dr. Bishop than without.

Dr. Bishop slowly rest the side of his head on her shoulder. He rubbed his temple gently against the royal blue cashmere sweater she wore. She could hear his soft breathing and his tears were already creating a wet spot on her shoulder, so she carefully fished the handkerchief in her trouser pocket out and passed it over to him. He held it in his fist, slightly crumpled from its folded state.

"I'm getting your sweater wet," he whispered softly as his head continued to rest on her.

"That's what the handkerchief is for," she whispered back, a faint smile on her face.

Actually that was the first smile she had managed today. The other woman's name didn't sit right in her mind. A name made the situation more real—she could actually die here, whether he killed her intentionally or by accident. Also…also Dr. Bishop kept repeating that the other woman had had a beautiful smile. Astrid had never heard him refer to _her_ smile as beautiful and to be completely honest, she felt snubbed. _She_ was the one who brought him his lunch and snacks. _She_ was the one sharing her Mars bar with him and her coffee. _She_ was the one who graciously cleaned up after him, not _Carla_.

"You're too good to me," he murmured, startling her from her thoughts, and then made a loud snort into the handkerchief.

'_I'll could never be too good to you,'_ she thought darkly as she wrapped an arm over his shoulder.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Oooh, jealousy!_

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ Um, John Scott is going to show up and Olivia's niece Ella will be able to see him because her brain is all weirded up, too._


	30. This One’s a REAL Danger!

**Chapter Title: **_"This One's a REAL Danger!"_

**Chapter Genre:** _humour, shouting, phone calls_

**Chapter Rating:** _G_

**Chapter Notes: **_Oh, the general chaos that happens when Broyles tries to herd cats. Or in this case, trying to get Walter to pay attention…_

**Takes Place: **_After 1.12_

**Song: **_"You'd Be Surprised" as sung by Marilyn Monroe_

**Disclaimer:** _not mine :)_

* * *

"_Don't judge a book by it's cover,_

_'cause he's got the face of an angel but_

_There's a devil in his eye!__"_

* * *

Walter yawned quite loudly and Agent Broyles paused in his lecture, frowning.

"Is this boring to you, Dr. Bishop?"

"Yes," he grumbled and winced as he realised he hadn't said it quietly enough.

"Well, why don't you tell me what would make this more interesting to you?" the agent said and Walter didn't miss his gritted jaw.

"Angora has my colouring book. I was working on the nervous system," he complained as pitifully as he could. "I was making it light blue!"

The agent turned to look at his son, obviously confused. "What is your father—"

Peter rolled his eyes for the thousandth time that day. "Astrid bought him a colouring book of human anatomy and he was working on it before we came here."

Broyles looked back at him with an irritated look. "You can go back to your colouring when we're done here. It's more important that I warn you about Agent Harris—"

"If she's colouring my page right now, I'm going to be very angry," Walter warned.

Broyles looked like he wanted to argue. "I'm sure she isn't—"

"We should go back now to make sure!" he insisted, regretting getting in the car with Olivia and Peter in the first place.

Peter held up his hand. "Walter, be quiet. Let me call her and you can tell her."

Walter quickly drank the rest of his coffee while Peter dialed the number—Walter **loved** making phone calls.

"Astrid, this is Peter," his son said to the phone he held out in front of him.

The young woman's voice came out of the phone loud and clear for everyone to hear. "Hey, Peter. Is everything okay?"

"Walter wants to talk to you."

Walter quickly snatched the phone out of his son's hand and cleared his throat.

"Agent Assonance, this is Dr. Walter Bishop. You may remember me from the laboratory?" he said politely, giving everyone a thumbs-up sign.

"Yes, I know who you are, Dr. Bishop," the assistant said.

He nodded, pleased. "Good, good. My dear, I have a favour to ask."

"Shoot."

He reached out to pick a piece of lint off Agent Broyles shirt and had his hand swatted away. "I have a colouring book of human anatomy and while I'm away, I don't want you to colour in it. I was using a very specific colour of blue and you might mess it up—"

The young woman interrupted him. "Dr. Bishop, I'm not colouring. I'm cleaning up that mess you made."

Peter frowned at him "What mess did you make, Walter?"

"Am I on speakerphone?" she asked.

"Agent Broyles is here and so is Olivia! Be a lamb and say hello!" Walter demanded cheerfully.

"Uh, hey Olivia. Hello, Agent Broyles."

Peter seemed concerned about this supposed "mess" that he had made. "Astrid what kind of mess did Walter make? I don't want you cleaning up something that he did on purpose."

Broyles turned to Olivia. "Agent Dunham…"

The young woman on the phone explained what she was cleaning up. "He spilled cupcakes into the tank and the icing is stuck all over the wiring—"

"Walter!" Peter shouted.

"Save the icing!" Walter cried, remembering the rainbow sprinkles that had been mixed in.

"Dr. Bishop, please!" Broyles cried in frustration.

Peter ordered, "Don't clean it up for him—"

"The pink icing, not the green—" Walter begged.

"I'm trying to talk—" Broyles insisted.

Walter had had enough and shouted very loudly "I WANT MY COLOURING BOOK!"

The office feel silent and he could swear he hear the assistant on the other end of the phone giggle, but he couldn't be sure.

Olivia finally spoke up. "Agent Broyles, can we do this back at the laboratory?"

Walter nodded enthusiastically at the frazzled Agent. "We have cupcakes!"


	31. So Unusual

**Chapter Title: **_"So Unusual"_

**Chapter Genre:** _angst, jealousy_

**Chapter Rating:** _G_

**Chapter Notes: **_Dedicated to __Fantasy Cat__ for giving me the prompt :)_

**Takes Place: **_between 1.12 and 1.13_

**Song: **_"Unusual" by Stacy Clark_

**Disclaimer:** _Duh._

* * *

"_Is this the outcome_

_Is this the truth_

_Is there a connection_

_Between me and you_

_Is this the game you play_

_Is there a better way_

_For me to get through?"_

* * *

Astrid carefully straightened Dr. Bishop's tie for the fifth time that morning—he kept "fixing" it and the knot was becoming crooked.

"Just leave it alone," she chastised softly as her fingers smoothed the expensive purple silk.

Peter had had her run out before work and buy the tie, which he of course reimbursed her for. She had picked out a rich plum that contrasted nicely with the light blue shirt he wore, which was fortunate because she personally hated it when men wore ties that clashed with an outfit. Though had she known what this tie had been purchased for, she might not have picked one so nice…

"It's not too formal for a lunch?" he inquired, trying to squirm away.

"No, it looks very nice. Now if you'd stop touching it…"

She was sitting on the railing that separated the laboratory's top level from the bottom, her feet locked into the lower rung to keep her from tipping backwards. Dr. Bishop was licking his palms like a cat and rubbing them across his hair in an attempt to straighten the frizz.

"I don't want to look too frumpy to Mrs. Warren, my dear. She is a very fashionable woman," he said and Astrid felt something in her chest tighten.

"Mmm." She pulled a comb off one of the nearby desks and ordered, "Hold still."

Dr. Bishop fidgeted slightly as she made him turn around so she could tidy up the wild brown curls.

"When Peter was a boy I never made him brush his hair," he protested weakly.

She raked the comb lightly through his locks. "Yes, well, I'm not letting you out with your hair a complete mess."

"Could you possibly make it into a pompadour? Those are quite chic, you know."

"Not enough hair," she said, her mouth quirking momentarily into a smile.

He turned his head slightly to look at her. "Are you sure?"

A slight smirk escaped her lips as she gently directed his face forward again. "Very. Hold still, please."

"Scratch my scalp, it itches," he said and she set the comb aside momentarily to let her fingers sink into the waves of his hair. He let out a content sigh as she began to rub her fingernails against his skin. "Oh, that's _very_ good. Right there."

Peter came into laboratory through the main door, himself dressed quite nicely. "Walter, are you almost ready?"

"Almost! Look what this young lady did to my hair!" he cheered excitedly and abandoned her hands.

Astrid continued to sit on the railing as she watched her scientist run over to his son, who looked impressed. "Wow, Astrid. You got him to look halfway decent."

"It's not a date, Peter. I'm just going to talk with Mrs. Warren about Carla over lunch," Dr. Bishop insisted as he checked his reflection in one of the many computer monitors.

"Well, I don't want us to be late," Peter said as he handed his father a sweater.

"You don't have to come," Dr. Bishop whined, pulling the brown knit cable over his head.

"I'm not leaving you alone with anyone, Walter. Well, accept for Astrid, of course," Peter said and grinned at her.

She smiled back weakly.

"I'll see you later, my dear!" Dr. Bishop sang as he walked towards the door.

"Walter, wait," she called out, letting his given name slip. Astrid hopped off the railing and ran to one of the many refrigerating units in the lab. She pulled out something else she had bought before she arrived at work that morning. "I picked these up. I thought that you could take them to her."

She handed him the wrapped bouquet of flowers and he looked momentarily stunned. "Oh…oh, Assistance, that's a wonderful idea! And look! Hyacinths! These are my third—"

"Favourite flower, I know," she interrupted.

"That's great, Astrid. I didn't even think of that. How much were they?" Peter said, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

"No, no. It's fine," she said as she watched the doctor burying his nose in the fresh blooms.

"You sure?" Peter said, hand poised to pull the money out of the worn leather.

"It's cool. Whatever," she insisted.

"We must be off, my dear boy! We don't want to be late!" Dr. Bishop said as he smoothed the petals on the periwinkle blossoms.

"Thanks, Astrid. I owe you," Peter said has he led his father to the door.

"Have fun," she said hoarsely and found herself alone in the laboratory.


	32. The Most Colorful Thing That I've Seen

**Chapter Title: **_The Most Colorful Thing That I've Seen_

**Chapter Genre:** _general, humour_

**Chapter Rating:** _G_

**Chapter Notes: **_Astrid does Peter a favour._

**Takes Place: **_Between 1.12 and 1.13_

**Song: **_"Colorful" by Rocco DeLuca & the Burden_

**Disclaimer:** _not mine, y'all_

* * *

"_You dance like no one's watching_

_Sing 'till the song ends_

_Then you sing some more_

_And we can hardly believe it_

_Words that flow from your mouth_

_Drink like it's water"_

* * *

Astrid entered the lab humming while she carried a box filled with twenty cartons of animal crackers that Dr. Bishop had requested. He was in a mood for eating lions, he had told her and after clearing out three nearby convenience stores, she had returned victorious, albeit fifteen minutes before the end of their work day.

Peter stood in front of Olivia at the coat tree, his hands clasped in front of him as though he were praying. "Olivia, please. I'm begging you."

"What's going on?" Astrid asked, a little concerned.

The younger Bishop turned his attention to her, "I have to take care of something and I can't bring Walter with me."

"I'll go home with Afro," the doctor said distractedly from his microscope, not even looking up at them.

Peter turned to her hopefully and even though Astrid knew what he was going to ask, she didn't have the heart to turn him down.

"Would you take him, Astrid? Please?" He gave her the biggest and most unexpected puppy-dog eyes she had ever seen.

"Of course," she replied weakly. She looked at Dr. Bishop and pointed to the cage of gerbils he was reaching for. "We're taking the bus, so they are not coming with you."

He frowned. "The bus? I wanted to listen to the radio."

She set the box down on the nearest desk. "My car's still in the shop, you don't have a choice."

He put his hands on his hips. "Does it have a ass warming feature?"

Astrid was a little surprised at the question. "My car or the bus?"

"The car."

"No, but—"

"Then I'm glad we're not taking your car," he snapped, turning his attention back to the microscope

"Walter," Peter said in a warning tone.

"I would like to bring Betsy," the elder Bishop begged as he pointed to the horrible slug creature recovered a last week.

"No. That thing stays here," Peter growled and took Astrid by the arm gently, leading her to a black duffle bag. "This is the bag I packed for him. It has everything you could possibly need—a blanket, a book of Walt Whitman's poetry, a notebook for him to write in, markers (don't let him get near your walls with them), two changes of clothes, duct tape…"

Astrid felt her eyes get big. "Will I need to use the duct tape?"

"I hope not," Peter answered, his own eyes shifting nervously.

"I want to _go_," Dr. Bishop complained, stamping his foot.

"I know, hold on," he insisted.

The older man grumbled and trudged off to bother "Betsy".

Astrid felt guilty, but had to ask quietly, "Why…couldn't he stay at the FBI office?"

Peter looked angry. "Harris. He's out to get Walter and I don't want him to get into mischief while other people are watching him. I'd feel better knowing he was somewhere safe."

She suddenly felt very flattered that he—someone she considered a very tough person—thought she had what it took to keep his father out of harm's way. She looked over at Dr. Bishop, who had his face pressed against the glass aquarium where the slug lived.

"I'm going to head out. Sorry I couldn't take Walter," Olivia said as she wrapped her scarf around her neck. Then she winked at Astrid. "Have fun!"

"See you tomorrow," Peter said and she didn't miss the lingering look he gave the other agent as she walked out the door.

It wasn't much later when Astrid found herself standing at the bus stop right on the edge of campus, Peter seeing them off as if they were two children leaving for school.

"Behave, Walter! I don't want to hear any horror stories from her!"

Dr. Bishop ignored his son and eagerly placed his money into the bus' meter to get his ticket.

"I'll take good care of him," Astrid said with a smile and Peter nodded.

"Thank you," he said softly.

"I'm taking the window seat!" Dr. Bishop shouted and Astrid hurried up the steps of the bus to join him.

"Wave!" the older man ordered as they began to pull away from the stop and both waved to Peter, whose smile looked a little sad.

Once the younger Bishop man was out of sight, the scientist touched the iPod in her lap and played with one of the earbuds. "I want to listen to something," he whined.

"It's been in my ear," she warned.

"Bah," he scoffed and stuck the earbud into his ear. She turned the music down slightly and he shouted happily, "Different song!"

Her fingers quickly shuffled through the iPod's music until he shielded the device from her. "This one's good."

He was very loud and Astrid was embarrassed at the way he was acting, but the music seemed to relax him. She was just beginning to let her mind wander when he said noisily,

"Afro, how far away do you live?"

Some of people who were already looking at them gave the older man looks of shock and disgust, obviously mistaking his choice in name as a racial slur. She slid down in her seat a bit, her face hot.

"Not that far," she said miserably.

"Do you have a television? I'd like to watch more of that delightful Spongebob Squarepants," he asked as he toyed with his dufflebag's zipper.

"Yes, we can watch tv when we get there. Now just stay quiet and listen to the music," she begged.

He nodded and began to sing quietly as he bobbed his head in time with the music, rubbing his hands back and forth on the top of the dufflebag. He stared out the window and she wondered if he ever feared Peter leaving him to never come back.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Astrid's apartment building, riding the cramped elevator up the four floors together without incident. Astrid's apartment was humble, composed of many old books, secondhand furniture and stacks of old jazz and classical records. The sitting room was wallpapered with a sunny yellow, small lines of brown vines and hazel flowers forming the pattern. The south wall had wonderfully open windows that usually kept the room lit with golden sunlight, but as it was winter, the sun was already set by the time she got home and today was no exception. She flicked on the lights and to her surprise, Dr. Bishop was quiet as he entered the abode.

He was drifting around by the fake fireplace, looking at the framed photos she had sitting on the mantle. She set her purse on the coffee table and tossed her coat off onto the shabby grey-green couch.

"Is this a picture of you?" he asked quietly and she moved over to his side.

She smiled. "Yes. I was 16, homecoming dance."

"Do you still have the dress?" he asked, looking intrigued.

She hadn't thought about that dress in years. "No. I gave it to a cousin a couple years after I graduated high school."

He smiled and began to gravitate towards the kitchen area. "I want a ham and cheese sandwich, Android."

"A _croque_-_monsieur_?" she asked as she followed him.

He stopped in his tracks. "I beg your pardon?"

"It's a French for a toasted ham and cheese sandwich," she explained.

"How clever the French are." He opened her refrigerator, peering inside. "And in honour of my new favourite word, supersize it!"

* * *

_**A/N:**__ In the "Walter's Notes" for "Bound", Walter talks about liking the word "supersize" and how he took the slug-thing for walks around the lab and that her_ _name was Betsy. See, I can keep it canon ;)_

_Random Fringe Prediction:_ _I know something of this nature is gonna happen. Either Liv or Astrid will have to babysit him_


	33. Row Boat

**Chapter Title: **_"Row Boat"_

**Chapter Genre:** _General_

**Chapter Rating:** _G_

**Chapter Notes:**_ Part two of Walter at Astrid's apartment. And it appears there's been a change of plans…_

**Takes Place: **_Between 1.12 and 1.13_

**Song: **_"Ara bátur (Row Boat)" by_ Sigur Rós

**Disclaimer:** _not mine_

* * *

"_You stir up_

_Emotions_

_In a blender_

_Everything in disarray__"_

* * *

Astrid and Dr. Bishop were sitting quite comfortably on the couch, she enjoying a bowl of ice cream and he enjoying a second dinner of leftover spaghetti with a side of homemade French fries. She had laid kitchen towels on the armrest to his left and on the cushion to his right so that when he wiped his hands mindlessly, it wouldn't be on her couch's greyish-green fabric. So far, they were doing their job. The television was playing a police show and while the scientist's eyes were transfixed on the screen, Astrid was secretly wondering where Peter was. It was nearing 9:50 pm and—

The cellphone in her pocket vibrated and she quickly answered it. "Hello?"

It was Peter. "Astrid…"

"Is everything okay?" she asked, setting her bowl of ice cream down on the coffee table.

"How's Walter?" he inquired and she frowned at the fact he was avoiding her question.

"He's doing okay. We're watching The Closer." She looked over at her companion and lowered her voice. "Where _are_ you?"

Peter was quiet for a few beats then said flatly, "I'm not going to be able to pick Walter up."

She felt an edge of panic kick in. "What…what are you saying, Peter?"

"Please tell me you have a guestroom."

"I have a fold-out couch. Peter, what are you doing?" she insisted, trying to keep Dr. Bishop from overhearing.

"I can't tell you about it. Please believe me when I say I'm so sorry." His tone became a little happier. "I can swing by in the morning so you won't have to take the bus with him."

Astrid gave a sigh and to keep calm, silently counted to five. "Olivia would have thrown him out by now."

"Olivia would have hunted me down and shot me by now." He sounded tired. "I really owe you one, Astrid."

"You want to talk to him?" she asked softly.

"I don't have time. Tell him that I'll take you both to Denny's for breakfast in the morning. And that I hope he sleeps well."

"Be safe, Peter," she said right before the line went dead.

She tossed the phone onto the coffee table and the noise caught Dr. Bishop's attention. "Guess who's going to be sleeping here tonight?"

He smiled and wriggled in his seat a little. "Ooh, I like guessing games…you?"

She nodded. "Yes, I'll be sleeping here tonight."

"That wasn't so hard," he scoffed.

She tried again. "But guess who else?"

He dragged a French fry the spaghetti sauce. "I have no idea."

"You will," she said as enthusiastically as she could.

"What?" he asked his eyes large and French fry halfway up to his mouth.

"Peter is still busy and he asked if you could stay on my couch for the night," she explained nervously.

Dr. Bishop dropped the French fry into his lap. "Is Peter all right?"

"He's fine. He said he'd take us out to Denny's in the morning," she assured quickly.

He picked the French fry up and ate it. "Will he be staying here tonight as well?"

Astrid shook her head. "No. It's going to be just you."

"Where will you sleep?" he asked as he pulled his duffle bag off the floor and set it in his lap.

"In my _bedroom_."

"_Obviously_," he snorted then asked, "Where will I sleep?"

She got up from the couch. "This couch has a pull-out queen-sized bed. You'll be sleeping on it."

"I take my shower in the morning," he said as he opened his duffle bag and pulled out a CD player and a set of headphones.

"Wait a second, you have a CD player?"

He set it on the coffee table. "Yes."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why do you listen to my music on the bus then?"

"Why does it matter?" he snapped. "I enjoy the music you have! Why shouldn't I enjoy your music? I just want—"

"Okay! Okay! Relax! I don't mind sharing with you," she quickly said, not wanting to upset him further. "You stay here while I get bed sheets and blankets and stuff. Actually, move the coffee table over there and I'll help you pull out the bed."

"Right-o!"

She went into her bedroom and opened the trunk at the end of her bed, finding a set of flannel bedsheets that had light blue snowflakes and a thick red fleece blanket. She took a spare pillow out off her closet's top shelf and brought them into the living room, where Dr. Bishop had moved the coffee table off to the side, pulled out the bed and was eating the last of her ice cream.

"I didn't want it to go to waste," he explained.

"How thoughtful. I'll make the bed," she said as he licked off the spoon.

"I'll take my plates to the sink," he offered.

She quickly pulled the fitted sheet on the decidedly thin mattress. "Thank you."

"I promise I don't snore."

"Good to know," she said with a smile as she tucked the flat sheet in.

"I can't wait for Denny's in the morning!" he exclaimed before licking the bowl clean.

She found his dufflebag as he carried the dishes into her kitchen and unpacked two items she knew he'd want.

"Peter packed your pyjamas and here's a CD that says "Walter's Nighttime Music"," she said, placing the dusty blue bedclothes and the jewel-line case on the edge of the bed.

"I'll change when I have a little more privacy. I don't want enquiring eyes taking advantage of the situation," he said, looking pointedly at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm headed to bed, so you'll have all the privacy you want."

"And no peaking through the keyhole!" he warned as she shut the bedroom door behind her.

Astrid considered locking the door, but felt guilty for being so paranoid. Dr. Bishop wasn't going to kill her in her sleep and if he had to use the lavatory, she wanted him to have full access to the needed facilities so that her couch wasn't ruined. She shut the window's curtains and took off her clothes, stretching tired muscles before she put on her pyjamas. Normally she read before she went to sleep, but having unexpected company had thrown her off her usual routine, she simply turned off the bedroom light and lay in bed, trying to fall asleep.

She started to count sheep. One…two…three…

There was a knock on her bedroom door and she sat straight up.

"Yes, Dr. Bishop?" Astrid called out, a little nervous.

"I can't sleep," he said mournfully.

"What do you mean?" she asked, wondering if she was supposed to heat milk for him or read him a bedtime story.

The door opened slightly and he peeked his head in. "It's lonely."

Her eyes got big as she pulled the bed sheet up across her chest. "Uh…"

"Is your closet crowded?" he asked as he inched into her bedroom.

She sighed in relief and climbed out of bed. "No."

She had cleaned it out two weekends ago when she was searching for things to take to the local Salvation Army. She made her way to the closet and opened the door. He started to enter but Astrid stopped him with a wave of her hand. "Wait, let me move the shoes."

He clutched at the pillow she had given him. "Thank you, Aster."

"No problem, Walter. Hold on and I'll move the clothes, too." She pulled her clothes off the closet bar, setting them over on a sitting chair by the window, trying to clear the space for him. "I have an electric blanket. Would you like it?"

He nodded happily. "Oh, yes! I would like that very much."

She couldn't help but smile as he shuffled into her closet while she pulled her electric blanket out of the trunk at the end of her bed. She handed it to him and he wrapped himself in it, snuggling down on the carpet of the floor.

She looked down at him and felt slightly self-conscious in her nightclothes, even though it was dark in the room. "If you, uh, need anything else, let me know, 'kay?"

"All right," he said with a yawn.

She returned to her bed and as she pulled the blankets up to her chin, she could hear the faintest tune of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" coming from the closet. Her nervousness was slowly beginning to subside when Dr. Bishop spoke again.

"Do you mind if I shut the door?"

He sounded sleepy and Astrid smiled in the dark.

"Not at all. Anything to help you sleep."

The quiet sound of her closet door gliding along the tracks and the slight hiss of the radiator seemed right, calming, relaxing.

"Goodnight," he called out.

She cuddled up to her pillow and yawned. "Goodnight, Walter.

* * *

_A/N: To be continued…_


	34. Wake Up and Plan Another Brand New Day

**Chapter Title**: _Wake Up and Plan Another Brand New Day_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG for thoughts of nudity_

**Chapter Notes:**_ Part three of Walter at Astrid's apartment the morning after._

**Takes Place: **_between 1.12 and 1.13_

**Song: **_"It's a Beautiful Morning" by the Young Rascals_

**Disclaimer:** _not mine_

* * *

_It's a beautiful mornin',_

_Each bird keeps singin' his own song, so long!_

* * *

Astrid woke to her bedroom curtains drawn wide open, the rising sun filling her room with golden light. _'What the hell? When did I open the curtains?'_ she thought as she stretched and left her bed. She stumbled to the lavatory and opened the door, which she promptly shut again, wide-awake now.

Dr. Bishop was singing in her shower.

DR. BISHOP WAS SINGING, "IT'S A BEAUTIFUL MORNING" IN HER SHOWER.

Her eyes darted to the open closet door and she spotted his pillowcase peaking out along with the yellow satin-edged corner of the electric blanket she had given him. Flashes of the night before entered her mind and she groaned, quickly finding the light dressing gown hanging on the back of her bedroom door. As she tied the sash tightly around her waist, she hurried out into the living room, her heart thundering in her chest. Thank god there had been steam, thank god there had been a shower door with tinted glass, thank god her eyes hadn't ventured downwards—

There was a knock on her front door. She didn't even bother checking the peephole to see who was on the other side—she just unlocked the deadbolt and jerked the door open.

As she had hoped, there Peter Bishop stood in the doorway, a grin on his face. "Mornin—are you okay?"

"Your father is in my _shower_," she blurted out, pointing back to the direction of her lavatory. Peter was silent, looking a little stunned, so she added, "I forgot he was here."

"There are so many mornings I wish I could say that," Peter said wistfully as he entered the apartment. "He didn't cause any trouble did he—oh wow, he made the bed."

She crossed her arms as she looked at the fold out couch. "He slept in my closet."

"WHAT?!" he cried.

"He said he was lonely," she grumbled.

He looked horrified. "Oh, jeez, Astrid. You should have called me. He didn't do anything, did he?'"

"What? No!"

"I should have just one of the agents stay with him for the night—"

"No," Astrid said firmly, feeling bad for complaining. "They wouldn't understand him. I'd rather him be in my closet."

Peter took her hands. "Astrid, you are a **saint**."

She laughed and began to fold the couch back up, sheets and all. Sitting down on the couch with a sigh and patted the cushion next to her, inviting him to join. "So what were you up to, Peter? What were you doing last night?"

"Astrid, I can't tell you. And I'd appreciated it if you didn't tell Olivia."

"So when Walter lets it slip that he spent the night, I'll explain that I was having a sleepover?" she said snippily.

He shrugged. "I'll say the car broke down and I couldn't come pick him up. Capeche?"

She was starting to feel angry. "Whatever, Peter. Just don't make a habit of it. I don't like lying about things to Olivi—"

"Astrid, I promise I'll explain what I was doing. _Just not now_."

Dr. Bishop came wandering through her bedroom door, completely dressed (thankfully), though still towel drying his hair while whistling.

"Peter! You're here!"

He dropped to towel to the floor and rushed to Peter, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Peter looked startled, but surprisingly not displeased.

"Hey, Walter!" he sputtered, returning the hug.

The older man clung to his son and Astrid felt her heart melt for the two, all thoughts regarding Peter's strange behaviour and Dr. Bishop using her shower gone.

"I missed you. Aster was a very good host, but she's not _you_," the older man said happily, still holding tightly to his son.

She went to her bedroom and called out, "I'm going to go get ready. Make yourself at home." She leaned back out of the bedroom door and said in a deadly serious voice as she pointed to Dr. Bishop, "You stay away from my pantry."

She kept her shower brief and wore an old pair of flip-flops the whole time; when she finally moved to the lavatory sink, she picked up her toothbrush and found the bristles already wet.

"Uuuuuhhhhgggg. White for Walter," she groaned and set the toothbrush back down.

She opened up her medicine cabinet and found a new toothbrush, trying to find a minute of peace as she brushed her teeth with cinnamon-flavoured toothpaste. Ten minutes later she was dressed and in the backseat of the Bishop's Vista Cruiser. Dr. Bishop was sitting shotgun and he had twisted around in his seat to face her.

"Asterisk, I really liked that purple bubble-bath you have. I'll be sure to have Peter pick up some so that I can smell like you more often."

"Walter…" Peter said with a sigh.


	35. Asleep in Dreams So Deep

**Chapter Title: **_**"**__Asleep in Dreams So Deep"_

**Chapter Genre:** _General_

**Chapter Rating:** _G_

**Chapter Notes: **_Walter's take on the night he stays over_

**Takes Place: **_between 1.12 and 1.13_

**Song: **_"Good Goodnight" by Aqualung_

**Disclaimer:** _not mine_

* * *

"_You talk in your sleep_

_I hear you say_

_Beautiful things_

_I love you, I do_

_You know that I do."_

* * *

Walter stood over the bed, watching her sleep. She seemed very peaceful, her eyes moving beneath her eyelids slowly. He wondered what she was looking at, if she saw the same things he did when he dreamed.

He liked her apartment. It had many little notes taped and posted everywhere and he wished that Peter had this type of initiative. On the bathroom mirror were the post-it notes that read, "Did you remember to brush your teeth?" and "Don't forget to floss!", which were very good things to be reminded off. In fact, he brushed as soon as he wandered into the bathroom! He still wasn't sure whose toothbrush he had used, but the important thing was he had followed the notes.

One of his favourite things to do with Peter when he slept was to have conversations with him. Peter would talk in his sleep with him, but Walter was afraid to admit that he couldn't remember anything he'd ever said. He momentarily wondered if she'd ever talk to him if he spoke. He concentrated on using his inside voice.

"Hello," he said softly.

She shifted slightly, but made no response. He smiled. Obviously she wasn't going to talk back.

He stroked his fingertips over the back of her hand, relishing the feeling of her skin under his. He wondered what kind of skin cream she used as it obviously wasn't doing its job: her hands were dry and he recalled times in the lab when his own hands became that way, though for him it was usually caused by chemicals and lack of care. Maybe the cold weather was the cause, though she had washed the dishes after her dinner this evening and the harsh dish soap could have done it as well.

He decided he'd lend her some of the Jergins he kept around the lab—skin care was very, very important, something he'd learned after years of chemical burns.

Walter leaned in close to her and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her hair. Oh, it smelled like the spices of Tibetan incenses. She must have spritzed herself with some exotic perfume and the heady scent was one he wished he could keep forever. She gave a soft, breathy sigh and turned over on her side, away from him. The tips of her curly hair caught the lights of the neon outside, reds, yellows, oranges. He imagined that it was a dandilyon and he made a wish,

and exhaled,

blowing into her locks, across the back of her neck. She shivered in her sleep and he smiled, carefully tucking her blankets around her. She was a peaceful sleeper and quiet dreamer, someone very beautiful and could many languages, maybe his own.

He was wrapped up in the blanket she had given him, luxuriously warm in her slightly chill room. He wished Peter was here to watch her sleep—he would appreciate the way she looked here in her bed. Oh, but maybe he'd rather watch Olivia sleep? That was fine. He was happy watching this lab assistant slumber. But it was time for him to go back to bed, well, the closet for that matter and he quietly shuffled off to the opposite side of her room.


	36. I Almost Feel Normal When I'm With You

**Chapter Title**_: "__I Almost Feel Normal When I'm With You"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour, Family/friendship_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG-13 for nudity_

**Chapter Notes: **_Thank to NomDuClavier for the prompt of playing "Marco Polo" in the lab!_

**Takes Place: **_Between 1.13 and 1.14_

**Song: **_"When I'm With You" by Sparks_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

"_When I'm with you_

_I never have a problem when I'm with you_

_I'm really well-adjusted when I'm with you, with you, with you_

_When I'm with you__"_

* * *

"Marco!"

"Polo," Astrid called back from the computer screen she was looking at.

At the moment she was making maps for Olivia, plotting all the nearby locations that she had requested.

"Marco!"

"Polo!" she called back again.

The door to the lab opened and there was Peter with their lunch. Astrid gave a relieved smile. She was starving and the power bar she ate two hours ago had done little to quell her hunger.

He held up the brown paper bag with a big grin. "Best Indian curry in the—"

"Marco!"

"Polo!" she echoed a third time as she went over to Peter. "Ooh, I'm starving! Thank god you got here when you did—"

"Marco!"

"Polo! Or I might have risked the campus cafeteria!"

Peter looked a little puzzled as they returned with their food to the computer. "Why is Walter playing "marco polo" and for that matter—"

"Marco!"

"—where is he?"

"Polo! He's in the tank. Going for a swim, he said," she said as she began to type the last of the coordinates into the computer's plotting program.

Peter presented her with her Punjab spinach and rice bowl. "He's playing in the tank?"

She looked at him with a raised brow. "Naked."

"Oh, Walter," he grumbled then shouted, "Walter! Get out of the tank!"

She could hear splashing water hit the concrete floor. "Mar—PETER! You're back!"

"Walter put your clothes back on!" he shouted and then turned to her. "Oh my god! How do you _put up_ with him?!"

She shrugged as she hit the print button. "He's somewhat of an acquired taste, but if you're willing to get used to it, it's not so bad."

Walter, now mostly dressed, hurried up the steps while zipping his trousers' fly. "I want a big bowl of chili cheese fries, Aspirin. Go ahead, tell Peter what they are!"

Peter rolled his eyes. "I know what they are, Walter. Please do not undress in the laboratory anymore for any reason."

"Onions. Lots of chopped onions. And extra cheese," he said dreamily. "Peter, pay her so that she may go buy us chili cheese fries." He grinned at her. "You're going to love them, my dear!"

Peter made a loud and irritated sigh, but Astrid could see he was hungry for them to, so she was hardly surprised when he grabbed one of the mango lassies and put his coat back on. "_I _will go buy the chili cheese fries and Astrid can continue doing the job she was paid to do." Before he walked out of the lab, he turned to look at his father. "_And keep your damn clothes on_!"

Walter snorted in disgust and as the door shut, proceeded in to unbutton his shirt as he hurried back to the tank. "Marco!"

* * *

Walter was floating languidly in the tank, wearing only his white socks, eyes half closed. His feet dragged along the bottom while his arms floated outwards, making him feel like an angled Christ on the Crucifix. It was so peaceful and quiet, making it easier for him to think his many complex thoughts and ponderings. At the moment he was imagining the potential resource of he and Peter sharing thoughts via the synaptic transfer. Would he start feeling attracted to Dunham? Would he stop craving so much sugar? And would Peter start singing before bed?

Walter decided that the last part would be nice because he hated having to sing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" by himself. His son had too nice voice to waste on his complaining.

He hadn't shut the doors on the tank because he found the air became stuffy after a few minutes inside, so it wasn't entirely dark and he could hear the footsteps that approached. Peter. Walter smiled as his son stood in front of the open doors and looked at him with raised brows.

"Are you naked?" Peter asked in a remarkably calm voice.

"No," Walter said, allowing himself to wake up from his somewhat nap here in the saline.

His son folded his arms across his chest. "And yet I see all your clothes on the floor."

"Not my socks. You don't see my socks out there, do you?" he replied smugly.

"No, I don't."

"I wanted to keep my feet warm."

Peter threw his hands up in obvious exasperation. "I am not even going to point out how illogical that is." "Walter, I don't think it's safe for you to sleep in here because, oh I don't know, you might drown."

He yawned. "Don't be such a pessimist, Peter. It doesn't suit you. Olivia wants more of an optimist, anyway."

His son's cheeks became slightly red. "Walter, get out and put your clothes on. I brought chili fries."

Now this was something that interested Walter. "Extra onions?"

His son nodded. "And extra cheese."

Walter hesitated. "Tell that young lady not to look. I'm not a piece of meat."

"Astrid, Walter wants you to know he is not a piece of meat and he would appreciate it if you didn't stare at him while he puts his clothes on," Peter said blandly as he looked over the top of the tank, presumably to the assistant who he could still hear typing.

"Consider his wish granted. I have no intentions of looking," she called back.

Walter gave a "she'd-like-us-to-believe-that,-wouldn't-she?"-look to his son as he helped him out of the tank. Peter didn't look happy as water sloshed everywhere.

"Ugh, Walter! Your socks are all wet!"

Walter smiled. "But my toes are warm."


	37. You Sexy Thing

**Chapter Title:**_ You Sexy Thing_

**Chapter Genre:** _humour, family/friendship_

**Chapter Rating:** _M for implications_

**Chapter Notes: **_Okay, I had WAY too much fun with the prompt medicgirl's co-worker Ray submitted: "__you should write one in which Walter makes lewd (but rational) statements about why Peter's cell phone vibrates." Shout out to my EMT homies!!!_

**Takes Place: **_in between 1.13 and 1.14_

**Song: **_"I Believe in Miracles" by Hot Chocolate_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

_"Only yesterday I was on my own_

_Just another day later my mind was blown"  
_

* * *

Walter sat on the edge of his bed, humming to himself as he played with one of the action figures he'd recovered from his box of toys. This particular figure, he had tried to explain earlier to Peter, was He-Man: Champion of the Universe. Now He-Man was a very fun character to play because he had a green tiger and a sword. Also, Walter was a little jealous that he didn't have to wear office wear, though he wasn't sure if he'd ever give up his lab coat.

Peter was sitting at their "dining table" which looked out his bedroom window, and was in fact, looking out the bedroom window. Walter had noticed his son was both closer and more distant as of late and right now was one of those "more distant" moments. But that was fine, it gave him plenty of time to act out a battle with a cowboy figure and a small stuffed dog toy that looked like a squirrel—he'd actually stolen that toy from a Pomeranian in the park

Walter made a very smug noise as he brought He-Man's sword down on the cowboy and was a little startled when a rumbling sound issued in return. He looked up and Peter's cellphone on the dining table pulsated once more, quivering slightly across the surface.

"It's Olivia Dunham," he announced matter-of-factly as he paused in his combat.

Peter jumped slightly in his seat and looked down at the phone, then back up at him. "How did you know?"

"It vibrated," he said turning his attention back to the cowboy,

"All calls come through as vibrations. Now be quiet," Peter ordered then opened up the cell phone. "Hello."

He danced He-Man on his knee. "No, it vibrates because she's a girl."

"It does not vibrate because she's a girl," Peter whispered, his fingers covering the mouthpiece, then pulled back his hand back so he talk to the agent on the other end. "No, I didn't take your case file home with me."

"It does vibrate because she's a girl. Women like things that vibrate," he said, wriggling his eyebrows which got a horrified look from his son.

"Walter, be quiet!" Peter hissed, covering the mouthpiece once more. "No, Olivia, but I'll keep my eye out for it. Oh, could it have ended up in Walter's things?" Peter held the phone against his chest. "Go get your things and make sure Olivia—_Agent Dunham_ didn't leave her case file in your folio. I saw you grabbing things willy-nilly this evening and it wouldn't surprise me if you took it by accident."

Walter scowled and pointed at the stack of papers he had tossed into a corner of the room. "You look for it, I'll talk to Dunham."

His son raised the phone back up to his ear. "Walter wants to talk to you."

Walter happily abandoned He-Man on the bed and took the phone from Peter, who went grumbling to the papers.

"Hello? Agent Dunham, this is Dr. Walter Bishop. I am the scientist that you work with on a regular basis at Harvard," he said as professionally as he could.

He had to admit she had a very pleasant voice this evening. "Yes, I know who you are."

"Oh, good. I was afraid you'd forgotten," Walter said, feeling a little relieved. "What does your cell phone do when my son Peter Bishop calls?"

She seemed a little startled at the question. "Oh, uh, it gives two beeps."

He nodded. "And it doesn't vibrate?"

"No, Dr. Bishop."

He watched his son digging through the papers and folders. "Peter's phone vibrates when you call. Yours should, too."

There was quiet on the other end. "…Why?"

Walter liked explaining things. "Well, women like things that vibrate and you like Peter, so—"

He couldn't finish his thought because Peter had obviously had enough of the conversation. He lunged at him, trying to grab at the phone, which resulted in a moment of wrestling and his son using words that were definitely not English. Finally, Peter was the victor and Walter was cradling his right arm with watering eyes; in the struggle he'd hit his funny bone against the nightstand.

Panting, the younger Bishop spoke into the phone. "Olivia, I am so sorry!" Then he shot him a particularly venomous look. "YOU, are not getting dessert tonight."

"What?! NO!" Walter cried.

Peter turned on the function known as "speakerphone" and held the phone out towards him with the command of, "Apologise to her."

Dunham's voice came out clearly over the phone as if she were in the room with them. "Oh, Peter, he doesn't have to—"

"I'm not apologising!" Walter said fitfully, upset that his elbow felt weird and that his son was oppressing his ideas.

Peter's face was twisted in rage. "Yes you will or so help me God…!"

"I'm sorry you're not enjoying Peter's phone calls more often!" he shouted angrily at the phone.

"Damnit, Walter!" The vein on Peter's forehead was throbbing. "I didn't find your file, Liv."

"Well, that's okay—"

Peter hung up without another word and then pointed his finger at him.

"No. Dessert. For. A. _Week_."

* * *

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ We'll see Peter and Rachel Dunham hooking up. :P :P :P :P_


	38. Well, Can I Ask You About Today?

**Chapter Title: **_Well, Can I Ask You About Today?_

**Chapter Genre:** _Family/Friendship, lite!Romance, Humour, General, lite!Angst_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG_

**Chapter Notes: **_Walter seems a little distant the morning after Jones is taken to the hospital and the bomb is diffused. Guest starring Peter's POV._

**Takes Place: **_morning after 1.14_

**Song: **_"About Today" by The National_

**Disclaimer:** _Obviously I don't own this._

* * *

"_Today you were far away_

_and I didn't ask you why_

_What could I say_

_I was far away_

_You just walked away_

_and I just watched you_

_What could I say_

_How close am I to losing you?"_

* * *

Peter had noticed his father wasn't himself last night after Olivia had disarmed the bomb Jones had set up on Church Street. He seemed a little distant on the car ride home and had gone to bed with only a few words muttered. This morning Walter had managed to get himself ready before he woke up, sitting quietly in the dark, apparently watching him sleep the whole time.

Peter decided that his father needed a break from the crap being forced on them, so when they got into the Vista Cruiser, he decided to make the day about letting Walter relax. They started by having breakfast at IHOP where Peter ignored his constantly ringing cellphone and Walter pretended his syrup container was pouring blueberry napalm all over the barren landscapes of his pancakes. He even played along, spearing a piece of sausage with his fork and pretending it was a helicopter flying overhead, looking for survivors. Walter then pretended to be a kraken and chomped down on the sausage, ending the game.

Afterwards, they went cruising up and down the backstreets of Boston, playing Stravinsky's "The Rite of Spring" softly in the cd player he had installed for Walter's listening pleasure. Walter quietly stared out the window, somewhat somber looking and Peter decided it was time to pick up his game. He found a park and pulled into the parking lot, the Vista Cruiser sputtering and banging loudly as he found a place to park. The two Bishops left the vehicle.

"This is a nice park, isn't it, Walter?" Peter asked pleasantly.

Walter made a grunting noise and pulled his scarf up a little tighter around his neck.

"I'm glad we have fresh air to breath," Peter added, hoping to get a smile out of his father, but he received nothing more than a scowl.

They began to stroll on the cement walkway, winding around trees and over grassy knolls. The air was nippy, but still, and Peter wished there was something he could say that would get a straight answer out of his father. But instead he remained his usual silent self, unable to discuss feelings or problems.

"Look at that squirrel."

Walter craned his head around. "Where?"

"Right there."

"I hate squirrels," his father spat then miserably asked, "When are we going back to the lab?"

"I thought we could have the day off," Peter said hopefully.

At this, his father perked up. "A vacation?"

"Yeah, a vacation."

This seemed to make him angry again. "You should have told me. I would have put on my swimming trunks."

"You don't have swimming trunks, Walter," he said with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, that's right." The older man suddenly looked panicked. "My assistant! What will she do without me?"

Peter put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure Astrid is managing just fine."

"And Gene! What if she wants someone to take her for a walk?"

Peter tried not to roll his eyes. "We can do that tomorrow."

Peter sighed and then pointed to something his father might actually be interested in. "Hey, look. A hot dog vender."

Indeed, this did seem to interest the senior Bishop and they wandered over to a pushcart where a surly looking man said blandly,

"Hot dogs are two bucks, polish dogs are three-fifty, a drink is a dollar-fifty, chips are two bucks."

Walter hardly hesitated. "I want a polish dog with sauerkraut, mustard, relish, and onion, a bag of these orange nuggets, and that Pepsi."

The vendor pulled a warmed polish dog out of the roticery and placed it on a small bun, then handed it over to the eager scientist. "Toppings are over there."

Ketchup," Walter said fiercely as he piled ona heap of onions, "is what the commies want us to put on our hot dogs. _Disgusting_."

The vendor nodded. "A purist. I like that."

"Dirty Harry would have to agree." Peter wasn't really hungry. "I'll just have a regular hot dog and a water."

"Water is two bucks," the vendor said as he handed him his hotdog.

"Fine."

"Chee-tos," Walter sounded out as he looked at the bag.

"Eleven bucks," the vendor said.

Peter took out a ten and a five-dollar bill. "Keep the change."

"Thank you," the vendor said with a nod.

Walter snatched Peter's hot dog from him and proceeded to squirt ruby red ketchup on the top.

"What about the commies?" Peter asked with a slight smile.

Walter draped an arm over his shoulder and pulled him close. "You're still my son."

"Thank you, Walter. That's enough," Peter said, referencing both the ketchup and the physical contact.

A smoky voice behind him sounded out. "There you are!"

Peter turned around and couldn't help but smile when he saw Olivia and Astrid coming towards them. "You tracked us down. GPS?"

"Astrid put a BOLO on your car."

"Hey, Dr. Bishop," the junior agent said amicably.

Walter finally smiled. "Hello, my dear. Would you like a bite?"

She shook her head as she led him off a few yards away. "No, thank you."

Olivia looked smug. "Broyles is pissed."

"He's been quiet and I was getting worried." Peter felt uncomfortable for admitting such facts. "Last night really shook him up."

"It shook all of us up, Peter," she said softly, then her smile returned. "So are you going to buy me lunch?"

"You haven't had anything to eat?"

"We've been out looking for you. No time."

He suddenly felt guilty. "Oh, uh—"

Olivia grinned. "A hot dog with ketchup."

"Two bucks," the vendor demanded.

"I already gave you an extra four dollars." Peter turned back to Olivia. "Mi'lady, there is still enough for a drink."

"Just a bottle of water," she said, reaching out for the hot dog the vendor offered.

The vendor looked between them with a slight smile and Peter didn't miss it.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Chapter 39 through 49 are all going to be based on reader prompts so everyone can make a request of something they'd like to see._


	39. This Night is Winding Down

**Chapter Title:** "_This Night is Winding Down__"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour, Trivial Pursuit_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG for language_

**Chapter Notes: **_"Name the company with the world's largest shipping fleet."_

**Takes Place: **_After 1.12_

**Prompt:**_"__A challenge prompts our 4 intrepid labrats to play Trivial Pursuit, with Peter the favourite, followed closely by Walter (his intermittent memory keeps him from being the favourite), Astrid, then Liv. Surprisingly neither of the Bishops wins." by NomDuClavier_

**Song: **_"After Hours" by We Are Scientists_

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own anything in this chapter._

* * *

_This door is always open_

_This door is always open  
No one has the guts to shut us out  
But if we have to go now  
I guess there's always hope that  
Some place will be serving after hours  
_

* * *

It had been a very long week and Agent Broyles had called the four of them to the FBI field office, wanting to discuss the recent brain liquefaction in the handful of poor victims they'd had brought to the lab. At the moment, Broyles was caught up in traffic and Harris was off somewhere, harassing other agents, no doubt, so Olivia led her along with the Bishops to an empty office. Everyone sat down at the conference table and a conspiratorial look was passed among them.

Out of her purse, Astrid retrieved a small box containing cards from the Trivial Pursuit game Olivia had discovered last week when Walter let Betsy loose in the lab and everyone was searching for her. As of late when they had down time together in the laboratory, they became addicted to competing against one another to see who was the best player among them.

Agent Charlie Francis was hovering nervously in the doorway and had she not spent so much time with the trio, she might have been doing the same. Astrid smiled at him and pointed to the extra chair in the corner.

"We need another player," she offered kindly.

His eyes darted apprehensively from her to the Bishop men to Olivia and he said, "I don't think—"

"C'mon, Charlie. Afraid I'll beat you?" Olivia said with a smirk.

Astrid sense neither Bishop men wanted Agent Francis to join them, but she knew that Francis could never turn down anything Olivia requested.

"Where's the board?" he asked as he pulled up the spare chair to the table, sitting between the two women.

"Walter set it on fire. We're simply keeping track by seeing how many correct answers we get," Peter said cooly, sitting up a little straighter. "Here are the rules: you're asked every question on the card and Astrid, who is the score keeper, will write the amount you got right. The person who has the most correct at the end of the thousand cards—which is 1,200 questions per person—wins."

Agent Francis raised an eyebrow. "We don't even have the pieces?"

"Walter threw them down the laboratory's floor drain," Olivia explained casually, as this really was every day occurrence.

"I had nothing else to throw," Walter said sadly.

"It's only until Broyles and Harris get back," Francis insisted.

Astrid pulled out a notepad and pen, ready to take tally. "I'll read the cards, except for when my turn. Then Olivia will read them."

"I go first!" Walter cried.

Astrid grinned. "All right. Name the company with the world's largest shipping fleet."

* * *

"Howdy Doody's twin brother?" Astrid asked an hour later, reading off the last card in the deck.

Without a moment's hesitation, Francis answered. "Double Doody."

Everyone looked at her and she gave a sigh as she nodded that yes, indeed, he was correct. AGAIN.

"I've never watched an episode of Howdy Doody. How do you know this?!" Olivia exclaimed, throwing up her hands.

Astrid was surprised, too. "Continent with the most people per square mile?

"Asia, with 203."

"Holy crap," Peter said in disbelief.

Astrid held up her hand to silence everyone. "And for the final question: a female yak."

Francis gave them all a very smug smile. "A nak."

"It appears we have a champion!" Astrid announced.

"I wanted to win!" Walter shouted.

"Dammit!" Peter snapped.

Olivia looked like she was regretting having invited Agent Francis to join them in the first place. "I had no clue you knew so much."

"Do you stay at home and read these for fun?" the younger Bishop sneered.

Olivia folded her arms across her chest. "I want to know the final scores.

"Winning by a landslide of 1,175 correct answers out of 1,200, Agent Charlie Francis!" Francis looked quite proud and Astrid continued. "Peter had 1,099, Olivia had 1,021, I had an even 1,000…and Walter had 999."

"It wasn't fair! Some of the answers have changed since I've been a free man," Walter said with a pout.

"That's true," Peter admitted.

The frame of the doorway darkened and they looked up to see Agent Broyles standing there. "Having fun?"

"Not really," Walter grumbled as Agent Francis jumped up, looking guilty.

"We were just waiting for you," the agent explained.

Astrid began to pack up the cards once more as Walter asked, "Do you like playing Trivial Pursuit, Agent Broyles?"

"I do," he replied hesitantly.

"Good, I'm working on making my own question cards to mix into the deck," Walter said as he pulled out a folded piece of paper out of his coat pocket and read off it. "Here's the first one: _Do porcupines masturbate?_"

* * *

_**Random Fringe Prediction:**__ Peter and Rachel will go out on a date or do dinner together. :P_


	40. Cold as Ice Cream But Still as Sweet

**Chapter Title: **_**"**__Cold as Ice Cream But Still as Sweet"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour, Friendship_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG_

**Chapter Notes: **_Walter learns about yoga._

**Takes Place: **_before 1.14_

**Prompt: **_"yoga. __in the lab. yes, that should do nicely ;)" by blackiebrens_

**Song: **_"Sunday Girl" by Blondie_

**Disclaimer:** not mine

* * *

"_She can't catch up with the working crowd_

_The weekend mood and she's feeling proud_

_Live in dreams Sunday girl"_

* * *

The laboratory was quiet and Walter looked up, wondering where his assistant was. He'd become so accustomed to her shuffling around, completing little tasks he asked of her, and it was unusual to have such silence. He set down the slides he was looking at under the microscope and went looking for her, which didn't take long. She was off by one of the laboratory's windows where the morning light was coming in and shining a square of yellow onto her. And to be honest… Walter had no clue what she was doing. At the moment she was bending her body in a weird shape, both feet on the ground shoulder distance apart, right hand on her right shoe and her left arm raised above her, pointing skyward. She shifted into a different position, her hands and feet firmly planted on the floor so that her body was bent into the shape of a triangle.

"What are you doing?" he finally asked.

"Downward facing dog," she replied in a very content sounding voice.

He cocked his head as he studied her. "That looks, eh, comfortable."

"It stretches the spine," she explained and he continued to watch her. "Stop staring at my ass."

"Can do," he said happily as he looked at the ceiling then decided he wanted to play, too. "Let me try."

She watched him as he copied her body's shape, which wasn't as easy as he had originally expected. "Careful," she warned, "You don't want to pull your back."

"So why are you pretending to be a dog?" he asked as he walked his hands out a little farther.

She shook her head, which looked funny because it made her upside down curls bob up and down. "I'm doing yoga."

"Is that some sort of roleplaying game?" he asked curiously.

She gave a short burst of laughter, nearly loosing her balance. "No, it's a set of breathing exercises and postures from India."

"Is it relaxing?" Walter asked, feeling the back of his hamstrings stretching.

"Very. It's how I unwind after a hard day here in the lab." She began to bend her knees. "I'm changing position."

He copied her as she lowered herself onto her hands and knees, arching her back upward and he gave sigh of relief. "Oh, this one is much easier. Like an angry cat! Hissing!"

She looked over at him with a raised eyebrow. "Well, most yoga poses have positive names. 'Angry Cat' should be more like—"

"'Cat Waking Up After a Long Nap in the Sun. Because He's Hungry," he said with a nod, feeling a little hungry himself.

This made her smile. "A little long, but on the right track."

He mimicked her lowering her back and he felt like a cow in the pasture. "This one is 'Gene Standing in Her Stall, Wondering What We're Doing',"

There was a chiming noise and the lab assistant got off her knees, standing up and stretching her arms above her head.

"Back to work," she said with kind smile down at him.

"This is very relaxing. I think I'm just going to lay here and take a nap."

"Okay," she said with a shrug and he curled onto the cool concrete.

He yawned loudly. "Would you be a lamb and bring me a blanket and a pillow?"

"Of course."

She returned with the laboratory cot's pillow and warm blanket and he made his temporary bed on the ground, content to be lying in the warm morning sunlight.

"Sweet dreams," she said softly before leaving him alone to dream of the many fantastic things he could possibly make now that Peter was here.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ omg, is it really that time again? Yes indeed, only one more chapter to go and the TLIA 1.02 soundtrack will be ready! Remember, you can download any of my story fanmix/soundtracks from my livejournal (for free)._

_Random Fringe Prediction (happy one): Walter is going to rely on Astrid more for the comfort, trying to understand his son, the Prince of Angst._


	41. When Your Nose is Runny

**Chapter Title: **_"When Your Nose is Runny"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour, Family/Friendship, Fluff!_

**Chapter Rating:** _G_

**Chapter Notes: **_What happens when Walter gets a cold?_

**Takes Place: **_Before 1.15_

**Prompt:**_"I demand more fluff! of Walstrid and Bolivia or Oliver or whatever anyone calls it. And of course you cant forget Walter and Peter angst! :D" –trippycookie_

**Poem: **_I don't know if anyone can take credit for writing it, but NomDuClavier suggested it to me._

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own anything in this chapter._

* * *

"_You may think it's funny,_

_when your nose is runny,_

_and you kiss your honey,_

_but it'snot"_

* * *

The sound of her ringing cellphone woke her out a deep sleep and her eyes hadn't even opened when she grabbed it off her nightstand and placed it to her ear.

"Hello?" she asked groggily, hoping to god it was Olivia, telling her she'd need to come in early today.

It was Peter, who sounded a little too cheerful. "Good morning, Astrid. How are you?"

"Peter, what do you need? It's seven in the morning," she snapped.

"Hey, I'm sorry! I'll talk to you later—"

"No, wait," she said rubbing her eyes, realising she was being bitchy. "Is everything okay?"

He sounded tired. "I'm taking Walter to the hospital—"

She sat straight up. "Oh my god, is he all right?"

"Yeah, he's just got a cold. But he's convinced he has something serious, like valley fever—"

In the distance she could hear a very congested Walter. "It IS valley fever, Peter!"

She smiled. "Aw, he sounds all sniffley."

She could practically hear Peter rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I was wondering if you would be okay coming with us? I really don't feel comfortable with him being in a hospital when there's the possibility I might have to turn my back for a moment, you know, to sign papers and whatnot."

"What about Olivia?"

"Well, she's got her family staying and everything," he mumbled then added, "And you have such a way with him."

Astrid knew she could say no and Peter would understand, but it would hardly be fair if she left him on his own when he needed help. "Okay. I'll come."

"Thank you so much," he said, his voice full of relief.

"I'll be ready in fifteen minutes," she instructed.

"We'll be there."

She closed the phone and tossed it on the pillow next to her, letting out a loud groan. As much as she liked the Bishop men…well, she liked her days off just as much.

"Astrid Jane Farnsworth, you will get out of this bed and get ready right now. The sooner Walter is checked out, the sooner you can come home. Now go wash your face," she ordered aloud, trying to wake up.

She forced herself out of bed and marched to the bathroom, thankful that she hadn't actually had anything planned and that she had gone to bed a little early last night. Fifteen minutes later she had managed to wash her face, get a clean pair of clothes on, and three pieces of raison bread toast in her stomach. Down on the sidewalk she waited, her hands in her coat pockets and her purse slung over her shoulder.

The Vista Cruiser was heard before it was seen coming up her block and as her breath formed clouds in the early morning air, she grinned. All right, so she'd become a little accustomed to spending time with Dr. Bishop and Peter. And maybe it did feel good to spend time with them. The wood paneled station wagon pulled up next to the curb and she opened the back passenger door.

Dr. Bishop turned around to look at her. "Hello, Aspirin. Are we carpooling to work this morning?"

"Good morning, Dr. Bishop. No, we're not going to the lab. We're headed to the hospital," she said as she shut the Vista Cruiser's door.

"The hospital? Peter, you didn't get my assistant pregnant, did you?"

Peter nearly steered into the car in front of them. "Walter, what?! No, I'm taking you to the doctor's to prove you have a stupid cold and not anthrax!"

Astrid raised an eyebrow. "I thought it was valley fever."

The younger Bishop man snorted. "He changed his mind."

"Coccidioidomycosis seemed boring. Want a cough drop?" Walter said, offering up an unwrapped, slightly linty Ricola.

Astrid shook her head. "No thank you, Walter."

"My throat hurts," he complained.

"Why don't you suck on that cough drop and stay quiet? I'm sure it'll help your throat," she said kindly.

"Okay," he said then turned to his son. "I want to listen to more Britney Spears."

Peter's eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. "Astrid has to swear she won't breath a word of this to anyone."

"I'm cool," she promised.

The music started up, albeit quietly and with his stuffed nose, Walter began to sing along softly. "Womanizer, woman womanizer, you're a womanizer oh, womanizer oh *cough* you're a womanizer, _babay_." He leaned his head again the passenger side window and moaned, "I don't feel so good."

"We're almost there, Walter," Peter soothed.

"Just hang in there," she added.

"I want a back rub," Walter demanded.

"Lean back," she ordered and began to rub his shoulders over the car seat.

"Asperges?" he whimpered.

"Yes, Walter?"

"When I'm dying in the hospital bed, will you faithfully document the poems I recite? I've heard that I can be quite creative," he insisted and she bit back a laugh.

"Uh, sure."

"On onion skin paper?"

"I don't know where I'll find that," she replied quite honestly and he gave a dramatic sigh.

"Christmas wrapping paper will do. With a non-denominational pattern of course," Dr. Bishop said nodding his head.

Peter smirked. "Any other requests?"

"Don't be a smart ass. When my skin is being eaten away by _Bacillus anthracis_, you'll feel bad for treating me like this," Walter snapped.

"When the doctor tells us that it is a cold, you're going to feel like an idiot."

"Walter, where exactly would you have caught anthrax?" Astrid asked, suddenly wondering if she need to be checked by a doctor as well.

"I'm not sure. I found some old Milkbones in the Vista Cruiser that tasted a bit stale," Walter said distantly.

Peter made a face as he looked over at him. "Walter, that's _disgusting_. What have I told you about eating things that I haven't okay'ed?"

"Don't eat things if you're not willing to share," Walter tried hopefully.

"_No_," Peter said in a warning tone.

"Don't eat things that Peter didn't give permission for," Walter mumbled.

"That includes Milkbones." Then Peter's eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. "He likes having his neck rubbed."

Astrid moved her hands to his neck and continued the massage, which Walter seemly approved of, making a happy noise and settling back.

The final five minutes of the car trip was mostly in silence, though Britney still sang softly over the speakers. When they found a place in the hospital's parking lot, Peter hurried around the front of the Vista Cruiser to open the doors for both her and his father.

It appeared that Walter hadn't been feeling well enough to change out of his pyjamas. He had on a hotel robe and as they walked up to the hospital's lfront desk, Astrid did a double take when she looked down at his feet.

"Are those your slippers?"

Dr. Bishop stared down at his bunny slippers mournfully. "Peter won't let me wear my wool socks around the hotel room anymore."

"They're really cute, Dr. Bishop."

He touched her shoulder. "Thank you, my dear. My _son_ believes they're ridiculous."

She bit back her laugh. "I can't imagine why."

Peter just grumbled and rolled his eyes as he approached the nurse at the front desk. "Hi, I'd like to have my father examined by a doctor."

The nurse looked at the three of them and inquired blandly, "Nature of the visit?"

Dr. Bishop, in his most stuffy voice, announced, "I am uncharacteristically sick."

"Fill out these forms," the nurse said as she handed them a clipboard then turned her attention back to her computer screen.

As they moved to the reception seats, Dr. Bishop cheerfully told Peter, "Put down "skin deterioration" as a symptom."

"Walter, your skin isn't deteriorating," the younger Bishop man said as sat down together.

"It will be!"

Peter paused in writing. "Shit, what do I put down for insurance?"

"Um, let me call Agent Broyles," Astrid said as she pulled her cellphone out of her purse. "I'm sure you guys have some sort of coverage."

She quickly hit the speed dial on her phone for Agent Broyles, the 9 key, and he picked up on the second ring.

"Astrid. It's 7:34 in the morning."

She felt like an idiot. "Good morning, Agent Broyles. Sorry for calling so early. Uh, Peter and I are here at the hospital with Dr. Bishop—"

"Is he all right?" he interrupted with the same flat voice he used for everything.

"Peter believes he has a simple cold, but we're still getting it checked. Peter wanted to know if, um, he had health insurance. Or benefits or something," she said, feeling lame.

He paused, then asked, "You're at Boston General?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Tell the Bishops not to worry about it," he instructed then hung up.

Astrid looked down at her phone then turned to Peter. "He said not to worry about it."

"What does that mean? What am I supposed to write on this form?" he asked angrily.

"I'm going to die here in this lobby, won't I?!" Dr. Bishop cried out hysterically.

"Mr. Bishop?" the nurse at the front desk called out, holding a phone to her ear, one hand covering the mouthpiece.

"Yes?" Peter called back.

"You don't have to fill out those forms," she instructed, then turned her attention back to the phone.

Peter let out a relieved sigh and rested the forms back in his lap. "Thank god."

A nurse in lavender scrubs and strawberry blonde hair came into the reception room. "Mr…Walter Bishop?"

Walter jumped up and waved his hand in the air. "That's me! I'm the sick one."

"This way please," the nurse instructed and Dr. Bishop happily followed after her.

As Astrid and Peter followed a few steps behind, he began to lecture her as if they were going off to war. "Keep your eyes peeled and stay on your guard. We're going into enemy territory. Walter is like a magpie—he'll be attracted to anything shiny. Also, he is like a raccoon—he's going to get into things. And—"

Astrid held up a hand. "Peter I work with your father five days a week. I know what he does."

"Please get on the scale, sir," the nurse instructed.

Dr. Bishop looked over at Astrid. "Cover your ears and turn around. I don't want you to know my weight."

"Fine," she conceded and turned around, placing her hands over her ears.

She counted to twenty before Peter tapped her on the shoulder, looking a little amused. The lavender scrubbed nurse lead them to an exam room a few yards away and had Dr. Bishop sit down on a chair next to a wall with diabetes posters.

"Mr. Bishop, if you'll sit here I can take your blood pressure," she said, holding up a pressure cuff.

There was silence in the room as the nurse began pump the cuff, the Dr. Bishop said matter-of-factly, "I forgot to put on underwear."

Peter made a face as the nurse's eyes became extraordinarily large. "Ugh, Walter. Too much information."

"I just wanted you to know that when they admit me for bird flu."

Astrid raised an eyebrow. "I thought it was anthrax."

"Oh, yes, that's right. See, it's affecting the way I think," the scientist proclaimed quickly.

"I sincerely doubt that's why you couldn't remember," Peter grumbled.

"My name's Dr. Bishop, not Mr. Bishop," Walter said to the nurse. "And Aspercream, do you have that Christmas wrapping paper yet?"

She opened up her purse and pulled out a small tablet. "No, but I have a note pad. I can happily transcribe the poems to wrapping paper later."

He sighed dramatically. "I suppose that shall have to do."

As the nurse began to remove the pressure cuff, Dr. Bishop firmly told her, "I demand you take a urine sample."

The nurse started to protest but Peter insisted, "Just do it. He won't believe it's a cold otherwise."

The nurse sighed and left the room.

Walter sniffled again and said stuffily, "I've been monitoring my booger colour. It's gone from a titanium yellow to something of a more jaune d'antimoine hue."

Peter's face twisted in disgust. "Yuck."

"Does it have a slightly green tinge to it?" Astrid asked.

"Yes! That's the anthrax!"

"Walter, it's a cold. Your sinuses turn it slightly green," she said, planting her hands on her hips—honestly, for such a smart man, he was a compete fool.

"No! No, it's not a cold! I'm sure of it!" he insisted.

The door to the exam room opened and the nurse returned, holding up a sterile cup with paper lid on top. Dr. Bishop jumped up from his seat and hurried over to her.

"Here," she said. "You need to fill it to this line so we can run a lab test on it."

They filed out into the hallway where the scientist gleefully went into the men's restroom. Peter sighed and leaned against the hospital's white corridor, rubbing at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and finger.

"Your father is really cute when he's sick," Astrid teased.

"Having him sniffling around isn't as great as you might think," he said crossly.

"So where did you find the Britney Spears CD?" she asked as she looked down at the clock on her cellphone; it was 7:45 am.

When Peter turned to look at her, she could see how tired he was. "Walter bought it up in the bookstore. And you know, the fact that he likes Britney Spears is almost poetic. Both of them are complete messes in their personal life, but when it comes to their work, everyone believes they're geniuses."

"You could write a paper on that," she said sympathetically, squeezing his shoulder with her hand.

"Every field has its mastermind and they cover science and pop music."

Dr. Bishop came out of the bathroom looking quite pleased. "I got to piss in a cup."

As expected, Peter made a face. "That's great, Walter."

"I passed it through a secret door in the wall," he added giddily.

Astrid opened the door to their exam room and waved him in. "That's pretty exciting, Dr. Bishop. Now why don't we go wait in the exam room?"

"We need to come here more often, Peter. This is a lot of fun!" he said, grinning from ear to ear.

"Just sit here," she instructed, pointing to the exam table.

"Stop playing with that," Peter scolded as Dr. Bishop began to tear the paper sheet covering the vinyl surface of the table.

"This room is boring. It needs to have better posters," he whined. "My ears are popping. You may think it's funny, when your nose is runny, and you kiss your honey, but it'snot."

"You know, for someone with such a sore throat, you sure talk a lot," Peter grumbled.

Walter simply gave an irritated grunt.

The door to the exam room opened and a balding man in a physician's coat walked in. "Hello Mr. Bishop, my name is…" he paused as he looked from Astrid to Peter. "Hello. And who are you?"

Dr. Bishop looked proudly over at his offspring, who was sulking in the far corner of the room. "This is my beloved son, Peter Bishop and this lovely young lady is, uh…who are you?"

"Junior Agent Astrid Farnsworth," she said, offering out her hand to the physician who looked a little nervous as he glanced back at Dr. Bishop.

"Junior Agent? What exactly is he sick with?"

"I have anthrax," the scientist said sadly.

"What—!"

"My father does **not** have an exotic ailment. He has a cold," Peter said quickly.

Dr. Bishop glared at his son then looked over to her. "When I die from this, will you avenge me? You'll have to remind Peter every day that he did _nothing_ to help his father."

She shrugged and smiled at him. "Sure."

"Walter, quit being so dramatic," his son begged.

"Mr. Bishop—" the physician started.

"Dr. Bishop," Walter corrected.

"Dr. Bishop, I'm going to stick this in your ear to take your temperature."

He held up a tympanic thermometer, which made the scientist look to his son for confirmation.

"Peter…"

"It's legitimate," Peter assured and the doctor placed the thermometer into Walter's ear.

"98.3," the physician announced less than ten seconds later.

"That's elevated. My normal body temperature is 96.7. I obviously have a fever WHICH MEANS I MUST HAVE ANTHRAX!" Walter shouted and the physician recoiled.

Peter jabbed a finger at his father and yelled, "No, you **don't**! **Shut up**!"

"Open your mouth and saw "Ahhhh"!" the physician said.

"I could do this myself, you quack!" the older man snapped.

Astrid put her hands on her hips. "Dr. Bishop, I did not come here on my day off for you to be a smartass. Do what the doctor says."

"I demand a tuna melt after this." Dr. Bishop glared at her then opened his mouth for the physician. "Ahhhhhh."

The physician peered into the scientist's mouth, using a tongue depresser before pulling back and announcing, "Well, your throat looks a little inflamed."

Walter grunted.

"It appears you do in fact have a cold—"

"Hah!" Peter shouted, looking triumphant.

The physician continued. "But I will run some cultures on the swabbings I take, just in case. Is that okay, Mr. Bishop?"

"Dr. Bishop," Walter corrected. "And yes, that will be okay."

The physician pulled out long collection swabs from one of the exam room drawers and turned back to Dr. Bishop. "This is going to brush against the back of your throat—"

"Peter?" Dr. Bishop whimpered, looking over at his son and holding out his hand.

Astrid watched Peter gently take his father's hand and she quickly looked away to give the Bishop men some privacy. She was a little jealous of Dr. Bishop; last December when she had the flu, she would have liked having someone's hand to hold in the doctor's office. She gave little sigh. Maybe this was one of the perks to losing one's mind.

The physician slipped the cotton swabs into a sterile bag. "All done, Dr. Bishop. If you'd like, I can recommend some cough syrup—"

"We'll pick something up on the way home," Peter said.

The physician nodded. "You'll need to stay hydrated, so drink plenty of water and if you avoid dairy products, it will help with your congestion."

"You'll call to let us know when the cultures get back?" Astrid asked.

"Yes."

"They won't look like Betsy," Walter said with a pout as he hopped off the exam table.

The physician looked a little confused as they filed past him.

Peter nodded his appreciation to the hospital's doctor. "Thank you. Sorry about him—he's got a real attitude problem."

"I do not!" Walter shouted as Peter continued pushing him out the door.

"Have a nice day, sir," Astrid said amicably, hoping they hadn't made too much of a bad impression on the man.

He gave a weak smile. "You, too."

As they left the hospital, Dr. Bishop began his griping. "Ridiculous. He couldn't even take my temperature orally."

"Walter, just let it go."

Peter opened the passenger door of the Vista Cruiser for his father but Walter walked past him.

"I'm going to lay down in the backseat. I need a nap."

"Astrid," Peter said, offering her the passenger seat.

"Thank you," she said and after she sat down, he shut the door for her.

Peter started the vehicle, which rumbled and banged loudly before peeling out loudly from the hospital parking lot. Astrid wasn't sure what to say to him, as he seemed lost in his own thoughts. She turned the volume for Britney Spears CD to relatively low and this seemed to bring the troubled man back to reality.

"Check my father, will you? I don't want him eating any of the Fruit Loops he spilt back there."

She leaned over the seat and saw Dr. Bishop sleeping soundly on the large backseat, using a tired looking towel as a pillow.

"Aww, he wore himself out. How cute," she said fondly and sat back in her seat.

"Astrid, he's a terror with the rhinovirus. There is nothing cute about it." Peter let out an exasperated sigh. "What is it with women and damaged goods?"

Astrid felt like backtalking, something she didn't usually do. "I don't know, ask _Olivia_. She seems interested in some currently."

He looked at her with a surprised look on his face. "What does _that_ mean?"

"Nothing, Mr. 190 IQ."

"I'll let your grumpy attitude slide for today, _Junior_ Agent Farnsworth," he said with mock severity and exchanged a smile with her.

Astrid really liked this side of Peter; in the lab he always seemed so stressed, so angry and away from all the organised chaos of the Pattern, he seemed pretty laidback. Well, as laidback as one could get caring for Walter Bishop.

He cleared his throat and she could see he looked a little nervous. "I'm sure you probably have things to do today, but if you'd like, you could join us for breakfast back at the hotel. I'll even let you order from room service."

"Peter…"

"I know I can't buy you off with runny eggs and Spongebob reruns, but it's just nice to know that there's someone out their whom my father considers a friend. And I know you probably don't feel the same about him, but he positively thrives on the interaction he has with you. He talks about you all the time and I know that he never remembers your name, but Astrid, you're his only friend and it's healthy for him to talk to someone who's patient and understanding. I know I'm not the son he needs. I know I'm not the son he wants, but dammit—"

"Peter," she said sharply, which made him stop talking. She softened her tone and said gently, "Peter, you're very good son. And Walter is proud of you. He tells me every day. And I'm more than happy to come over if you're buying my breakfast."

"I can't tell you how much—"

She shook her head, knowing he had a hard time being open with others. "Then don't. You don't have to say it."

They were approaching a Safeway and Peter looked at her sheepishly. "Do you mind running in and buying a Dayquil/Nyquil pack and a few cans of chicken noodle soup?"

"No problem," she said and he pulled off.

Walter's tired and stuffy voice floated over from the backseat. "I want some Milkbones. Green flavoured."

"No Milkbones," Peter said, finding a parking space in the front and handing her a worn twenty.

Seven minutes later, Astrid felt stupid for not grabbing a basket as she balanced five cans of chicken noodle soup while she looked at the medicine on aisle five. There were large bottles of Nyquil, small ones, no packs… she opted for the small bottles of both mdication when someone with a cart stopped next to her.

"Hello!"

She looked up, a little startled at who she was seeing. "Oh, hi, Olivia."

The other agent smiled broadly at her and Astrid felt tongue tied. What on earth was she supposed to say outside of work? _'Hey, nice weather we're having?' _Olivia, though seemed happy to press for conversation.

"Uh, so you like chicken noodle soup?" the blonde took a closer look at the cans and added in a slow, confused tone, "With _stars_?"

"Oh, it's not for me. It's for Walter," she quickly corrected.

The agent looked a little amused. "Is Peter making you watch him again?"

"No. Walter has a cold and we're getting back from the doctors…Peter didn't want to do it alone," she said, feeling like an idiot.

Not surprisingly, Olivia looked a little hurt. "He didn't think to call me?"

"He was afraid that he'd be taking you away from your sister and your niece," Astrid explained, feeling weird that she was making excuses for Peter.

Olivia gave a sad laugh. "I'm actually here to get away from them. Not that I don't want to be with them, it's just that I'm used to my own space and they're…a family."

Astrid felt nervous that she was making things more awkward. "Well, I leave you to finish—"

"No, it's fine. I could, uh, take the soup over to them, if you want," Agent Dunham suggested, looking hopeful.

"They're actually waiting for me in the parking lot—"

To her surpise, Olivia grabbed her by the arm and began to drag her to the front of the store. "Then what are we waiting for!"

Astrid looked back at the now abandoned cart. "Your food—"

"Forget it."

At the register Olivia pulled out a twenty and handed it over to the cashier.

"Put the change in the donation tin," she ordered and hustled Astrid out of Safeway.

At the Vista Cruiser, Astrid opened the passenger door and tossed the purchase onto her seat. "I'm back. And look what I found."

"Dora the Explorer cereal?" Dr. Bishop popped up then saw Olivia and gave a disappointed, "Oh."

Olivia looked at Peter and gave a breathy, nervous sounding, "Hey."

Peter's cheeks were slightly pink. "Hey."

Astrid watched the other woman look a little shy as she said, "You could have called me. I wouldn't have minded coming to the hospital with you."

Peter looked just as bashful. "Yeah, but Ella and your sister…"

"I don't mind helping you when you need it," Olivia insisted and Astrid couldn't believe how similar to love-struck teenagers they acted.

"I don't want to be an inconvenience."

"You aren't an inconvenience. And neither is Walter."

"Either say what you want to say, or leave! I have a headache!" Walter snapped angrily and Olivia looked taken aback.

"Well, I should probably be going. I have grocery shopping to finish," she said in the most fake casual tone Astrid had ever heard.

Peter looked upset with her body language. "Liv—"

She gave them a cheerily smile. "I'll see all of you on Monday. Have a nice weekend."

"Bye," Astrid said sadly and the older agent left, walking back towards the grocery store.

Peter was unusually quiet as they pulled out of the parking lot, headed back to the Bishop's hotel room.

Walter leaned over the front seat to look at her. "Aspen?"

"Yes, Walter?" she asked, passing him a Kleenex to wipe his runny nose on.

He wadded it up in his hand and continued. "Would you like to have chicken noodle soup with us? There are stars in them."

"I'm going to have room service," she said.

Dr. Bishop turned to his son and whined, "Peter, you never let me order room service. That's not fair!"

"She's our guest," Peter retorted, rolling his eyes. "And if you can be good, I'll let you have your own side of fries or fruit or whatever you want."

The scientist looked like he was mulling it over then submitted. "Well, okay. I want taquitos. The hotel brochure said they're the best in town."

The younger Bishop nodded, looking relieved. "Just lay back down and get some rest, Walter."

Dr. Bishop nodded and disappeared into the back seat.

"I'm glad it wasn't anthrax, Peter," Walter announced loudly.

Astrid smiled as his son admitted quietly, "I'm glad it wasn't anthrax, too."

* * *

_**A/N:**__ I think as Fringe fans we need to pool our resources to get Walter to sing Britney Spears on an episode. I don't care what song he sings or under what context, I just know I want to see it happen._

_Trippycookie, I hope this was fluffy enough! _


	42. Beautifully Serpentine in Nature

**Chapter Title: **_"Beautifully Serpentine in Nature"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour, Family/Friendship, Fluff!_

**Chapter Rating:** _G_

**Chapter Notes: **_Where's Betsy?_

**Takes Place: **_After Walter types the notes for 1.11_

**Prompt:**_"__Maybe a story where Betsy the slug gets loose again (it's too bad she's locked up, maybe Walter could teach her to do circus tricks)" –Fantasy Cat_

**Poem: **_Unknown :(_

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own anything in this chapter._

* * *

_"Oh look, a wet trail on the pasture_

_A perfect example of fresh slime_

_Beautifully serpentine in nature_

_Examining it at length is certainly not a crime"_

* * *

"Sweetie," he called out in the most low, seductive way he could possibly manage as he walked slowly around his laboratory. "Sweetie, if you come to me, I promise I'll give you kisses and something sweet and maybe a back rub…I know you like those."

Out from Gene's stall came his faithful laboratory assistant, looking a little peeved. He smiled at her and she placed her hands on her hips.

"I beg your god damn pardon," she said.

"Hello," he greeted.

"Why are you talking to me like that?" she accused.

"Like what?"

"Offering me candy and kisses…and back rubs," she said hotly, a slight blush on her cheeks.

"Oh, I wasn't talking to you," he clarified. "My little Betsy has gotten loose."

Her eyes became wide. "Betsy? How'd she get out?"

"I was trying to teach her some tricks and the slippery little sweetheart got away." He turned around and began calling for her again. "Darling? Darling, where are you? I miss you."

His assistant followed behind him. "Betsy? Betsy! Where are you, girl? C'mon out so I can uh, put you back in your cage."

"Sweetie?" he made a kissing noise with his mouth, hoping to lure her out.

His assistant was down on her hands and knees, peeking under the shelves. "Why is she called Betsy, anyway? I thought she was from Dr. Kinberg's intestinal walls."

"She is," he said, helping her to her feet so they could keep searching.

"Wouldn't that make "her" a "he"?" she asked.

"My dear, don't you know _anything_ about science—oh, there you are, my darling!" he cried out, swooping down to sweep up the slimy creature into his arms. "You move so quickly!"

The young lady with curly hair broke into a smile, shaking her head slightly as he carried his gorgeous wonder of nature across the laboratory to her holding tank.

"My little sweetheart, you naughty thing," he cooed, ignoring the sticky goo that was soaking through his lab coat and shirt, then turned to look at his assistant. "Aspectual, would you bring me some saran wrap?"

She hurried off and rummaged through some drawers until she returned with a clear sheet of the thermoplastic. "Here you are."

Walter laid the sheet over the squirming slug creature and proceeded to plant kisses on Betsy, using the clear material as a shield between his lips and her green skin. "Kisses my sweet, because you're not getting them again anytime soon. I'm not going to be allowed to take you out anymore." Betsy struggled in his arms again and he soothed, "I know, I'm sorry. But what would Agent Broyles say if you got loose again and we couldn't find you, hmm? He would want to take you away! Yes, he would! Yes, he would! You silly girl!"

He opened up the glass terrarium that she lived in and carefully slipped her in, sans saran wrap.

"In you go—oh, look, my dear!" he exclaimed happily, grabbing his assistant's arm. "She's trying to do a summersault. Look at my pretty girl, yes you are! Yes, you are!"

Peter peeked his head out of the office door and looked at him in disgust. "Walter, are you baby talking to that slug **again**?"


	43. All I Do is Talk to My Pillow

**Chapter Title: **_"All I Do is Talk to My Pillow"_

**Chapter Genre:** _humour, general, family/friendship_

**Chapter Rating:** _M for language_

**Chapter Notes: **_Another late night dialogue between the Bishop men._

**Takes Place: **_After 1.12_

**Prompt:**_"__maybe another one where Walter gets on Peter's case about Olivia again (I love those)" –Fantasy Cat _

**Song: **_"Pillow Talk" as sung by Doris Day_

**Disclaimer:** _not mine_

* * *

"_Pillow talk, pillow talk_

_Another night of hearin' myself talk, talk, talk, talk_

_Wonder how it would be to have someone to pillow talk with me"_

**

* * *

**

"Vah-gi-NAH," Walter sounded out loudly, watching his boy's reaction.

Peter sighed, but didn't look over at him. "Walter, seriously. Shut up."

Walter was currently on a quest to discover what words bothered his son while Peter watched a special on the Marianas Trench on the National Geographic Channel. Armed with a dictionary, a pen, and the hotel room's notepad, he wrote down _'vagina'_ as number 38 on the list of words that his son didn't like said aloud. Walter was a little surprised at how uncomfortable his son was around anatomy terms—honestly, what kind of scientist would he become if he couldn't say 'nipple'?

"Snot," Walter tried. "Boog-ers. Barf."

Peter glanced over at him looking a little annoyed, but his attention returned to the television just as fast.

Walter tapped the pen to his lips as he tried to think of another word. "Fon-dant," he finally settled on.

"Walter, that's a type of icing," his son huffed, using the remote to turn up the documentary's volume.

"Oh." He looked at Peter hopefully. "Can we have some cake?"

"No."

Walter sighed, suddenly very hungry for something sweet and tasty, maybe a dessert with cinnamon or marzipan or chocolate. But Peter was the one who controlled the money and since they weren't at the laboratory, there was no vending machine to steal from.

"Boobs," Walter said aloud. "Breasts. Im-plants. _Hoo-ters_."

"Walter."

He wrote down the last word. As much as he liked the way it sounded, his son's comfort came first.

"Air-e-o-lah."

"Walter," Peter said sounding exasperated.

"In-ter-course," he sounded out.

No "Walter," but it definitely got a nasty glare.

"Co-ae-tus," he said as he wrote down _'areola'_.

"It's 'Coi-tus', Walter," Peter argued.

Walter chuckled. "My dear boy, it's 'Co-ae-tus'. _Trust me_."

"You've been locked up for seventeen years and I haven't. It's 'Coi-tus'," Peter said sarcastically.

"We shall just have to agree to disagree, son," Walter said sourly, then continued on with his list. "Or-gah-zum,"

"Walter, I'm trying to watch this!"

"Oh-lih-v-ah," Walter pronounced.

Peter didn't turn to look at him, but his eyes became very big and his entire body went tense.

"Nothing to say to that, my dear boy?" Walter challenged smugly.

Peter was hoarse when he spoke. "Why did you put her name in with those words?"

Walter hated being confronted. "No reason."

"No, you've been picking words to make me uncomfortable. Now why did you say her name?" Peter looked at him expectantly.

"Nothing."

"I don't know why everyone seems to think I like her. I don't," Peter insisted. "Don't look at me like that! She blackmailed me to get me here."

"Ah, young love," Walter said with a sigh.

"We're not in love."

Walter rolled his eyes. "Well, of course not. You're still in the first stages. I believe it's simply referred to as "interest" at this point."

"No. There is nothing going on between us. At all." Peter pointed his finger at him. "No, I'm serious. I have no feelings for her other than professional. She's just Agent Dunham and I'm just…"

"You're just who?" Walter asked, curious how his son viewed himself.

The young man shrugged. "I'm Peter."

"She likes you, too."

"I don't _like_ her," Peter insisted.

"Peter," Walter said gently, feeling like he was really able to connect to his son for in this moment. "I may just be your father and not the best one at that, but I can tell when you like someone. And Agent Dunham is very special."

A sad smile appeared on Peter's face. "She is."

"Mmm hmm," Walter agreed.

"But I don't "like-like" her," his son said pointedly as he turned his attention back to the documentary.

Walter agreed. "You "like-love" her."

"Walter," Peter said in a warning tone as he watched the television's screen.

Walter smiled and added "like-love" to the list of words his son didn't like.

**

* * *

**

_**A/N:**__ Fantasy Cat, I've had that opening line floating around in my head for the past week and I'm ttly stoaked I finally got to use it. I figured you would appreciate the "classy" twist I took on your prompt ;D_


	44. Untitled for Now

**Chapter Title: **_(Untitled)_

**Chapter Genre:** _Panic!_

**Chapter Rating:** _G_

**Chapter Notes: **_Poor Gene! And no, I couldn't keep the fluff out of this chapter :P_

**Takes Place: **_Before 1.15_

**Prompt:**_"I was hoping to think of a handful of options so you could choose, but the best I can think of for now is that the fire alarm goes off in the Kresge building (maybe during finals week though I don't know if our fringe family would know it was unless a student around them mentioned it) and the main dilemma is how to evacuate Gene._

_Preferably, the main four are all in the lab when this happens. Up to you:_

_whether the fire threat is real or a prank; whether there are other animals in the lab to worry about at the time; if anyone ends up evacuating, and if so, who." --neoxer_

**Song/Poem: (You guys I have no idea what song!!! Suggest something!)**

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own anything in this chapter._

* * *

_(Blank)_

* * *

It was a rather uneventful morning in the laboratory for Walter: he'd wrangled some dust bunnies out from under Agent Dunham's file cabinets, convinced Peter to bring him a bag of Skittles, typed out a list of laboratory supplies he needed replenished, and washed all the coffee mugs he'd dirtied before eleven AM. He felt quite accomplished with himself and was eating the fruity green candies (because the yellow ones were DISGUSTING) when a loud and distressing noise startled him out of his thoughts.

It was a fire alarm and the red warning lights on the walls strobed the angry scarlet across the lab while the siren continued to blare.

"Peter, did you burn something?" Walter shouted as his hands flew up to cover his ears, the bag of Skittles falling to the floor.

His son rushed out of the laboratory's restroom, still zipping up his fly as he yelled, "I was just about to ask you the same thing!"

"We need to get out of here!" Olivia yelled out, grabbing her handbag off one of the desks.

"Gene!" he cried, running across the lab.

His assistant looked a little confused at what she ought to do so he pointed to the glass tank where he had stored the mega single celled creature that had caused so many problems after Olivia had been recovered. "Astringent, get Betsy! There's a five gallon bucket over there with a lid!"

Gene was mooing balefully in her stall, and Walter ran to her side.

"I know, my darling! It will be all right! I promise!" he insisted as he found her lead to put on her halter. He looked over at the blonde FBI agent and quickly asked, "Olivia, you have no experiences with Bovine, do you?"

Olivia looked up from a file box she was quickly filling with papers and gave a startled, "I'm afraid not."

He worried the inside of his cheek and then said, "As much as it pains me not to do this myself, I'm afraid I must entrust you with my son's safety."

"Walter," his son said with a huff and a rolling of the eyes.

"No, Peter. If anything ever happened to you, I—I…" Walter's eyes watered and he hastily wiped at the tears forming. "I don't know what I would do with myself."

The young lady with the curly hair called out from across the room. "Dr. Bishop, we really need to go—"

"I know!" he insisted, seeing that Gene was becoming more and more distressed with each ring of the alarm. He pointed to a stack of loose notes on the table he had been working at earlier. "Olivia, please take those and go with Peter to the outside. Take his hand so that neither of you get lost in the smoke."

Peter tossed his hands in the air. "Walter, we aren't going to get lost in the smoke—"

It appeared Olivia didn't need to be told twice as she grabbed the file box along with Peter's hand. "C'mon, Peter. We ought to go."

Before his son could protest further, she dragged him out of the lab.

His assistant hurried over to his side. "Dr. Bishop…"

"Do you have Betsy safe and secure?" he asked nervously, leading Gene out of her stall.

She held up the five-gallon bucket, lid secured on top. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Put the manuscript in your purse and take it with you." He snatched the heavy paper off the desk and handed it to the young lady before coaxing his cow out of her sanctuary. "C'mon, pretty girl."

His assistant held out her hand and after Walter stared at it blankly, she asked, "You aren't going to hold my hand?"

He made a face. "Hold your hand? Why?"

She cocked her head and raised a brow. "So we don't get lost in the smoke. You had Olivia hold Peter's hand—"

He let out an amused laugh. "Oh, my dear young lady, I was merely giving them an excuse to touch one another."

She smiled and shook her head. "Oh, Walter."

* * *

_A/N: *gasp* neoxer, do you know how hard this was to write? You gave me so much detail and I was in awe of such a well-thought prompt, I wanted to make sure this was absolutely perfect. I hope you like it even though it was super short._


	45. It Can Make Your Heart Stop

**Chapter Title: **_**"**__It Can Make Your Heart Stop"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Romance, Humour_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG-13 for language_

**Chapter Notes:**_ I want all my EMTers from medicgirl's crew to feel better. Well, the ones that aren't feeling good, that is. And enjoy!_

**Takes Place: **_Before 1.15_

**Prompt:**_"would like to see something where Peter is having fun making things exploded, such as covering ammonia inhalants in alcohol gel." –Ben via medicgirl_

**Song/Poem: **_"Explosions" by the Mary Onettes_

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own anything in this chapter._

* * *

"_it's time to let the explosions in my heart,_

_leave me out to meet you in the end"_

* * *

Walter was happy because Peter was in a good mood, which was a rare event. When they had arrived at the university Peter had instructed him to remain in the car with the promise of hot chocolate after and because Walter was currently craving something sweet, he decided it was probably in his best interest to be good for his son.

However, much to his growing discomfort, Walter watched his son meet up with a group of students hanging out by a lamppost next to the parking lot. He let out a strangled cry as he watched Peter pull money out of his wallet and pass it over to one of the taller males, who in turn handed him a brown envelope. Walter watched them banter a bit longer, the girl laughing at everything his son said while he slipped the envelope into his coat pocket. What, what, what was his boy doing?!

Walter was nearly in tears as his son got back into the driver's seat.

Peter gave him an excited grin as he twisted himself around in his seat to pull his stack of folders off the backseat. "Okay! You behaved, so you're going to get a big cup of hot choc—"

"Peter, what did you buy from those young people? I will not let my little boy become a drug addict!" Walter cried hysterically.

Peter snorted. "Relax, Walter. They're ammonia ampoules. I bought them off some of the students training to be EMTs."

At this, Walter's entire mood changed. He knew exactly what his son had bought and why. "I saw some alcohol rub in the laboratory's restroom! Ooh, I'm so excited I could _piss_ myself!"

"You'd better not," Peter growled.

When Peter was a child, Walter had shown him many, many different things that made up the wonderful world of science. One of the fun experiments in chemistry they'd done was placing the ammonia filled ampoules on the back porch and then covered them with a layer of alcohol-based hand sanitizer, which they would proceed to set on fire. After a few minutes, the ammonia would begin to boil and the pressure would build up inside to the point where the glass vaporized, causing a small explosion. Needless to say, while Peter's mother hadn't been fond of it, it was a wonderful father-son bonding experience.

Walter smiled sadly as he trailed off after Peter, who was trying to find the campus coffee shop for their hot chocolate. Maybe Peter was making the effort to do something with him. Maybe this was the first step to recovering their relationship.

* * *

Peter had bought a ton of the ampoules and while they drank their hot chocolate and waited for the two agents to arrive, they worked at peeling off all the paper coverings on the ampoules. Walter hummed happily and he suddenly had the brilliant idea of allowing Peter to play with the supplies by himself. After all, he never let him do it as a child. Maybe this was a way to show his son that he trusted him.

"Peter," he started slowly.

His boy didn't look up him, concentrating on the ampoule in hand. "Yes, Walter?"

"I have some things to do after this. It completely slipped my mind. Maybe you can start by yourself and we can do it together some other day?"

Peter's wide eyes met his. "Really? You sure?"

Walter felt a little sick passing up an opportunity to set something on fire. "Positive."

Peter nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. "Okay. Maybe we'll do it on Friday."

"Fine," Walter mumbled as he watched Olivia come into the laboratory, arguing loudly with someone on her cellular phone.

She didn't glance at them or say good morning, so Peter got to business clustering the ampoules on a small tray he'd found. She continued arguing while Walter retrieved the alcohol rub and was still raising her voice when his assistant showed up. Only when Peter had already set the gel on fire did she hang up, though she seemed not to have noticed the flames. Walter watched her rubbing the bridge of her nose, staring off to the door.

The ampoules exploded loudly like a gunshot and in that moment, three things happened: Olivia spun around with her gun drawn, Astrogal squeezed her cup of coffee so hard it popped the top off and sloshed the hot liquid all over, and Gene let out a distressed moo.

Peter obviously hadn't been expecting that strong of a reaction from either the chemicals or the other residents of the laboratory. But everyone's attention went to Olivia, who still had her gun drawn, shakily pointed in the direction of Peter.

"Shit, Liv!" Peter exclaimed.

"Oh my god. Oh my god, I think I really just had a heart attack." She lowered her weapon, her face stark white. "Hold on, give me a minute to catch my breath." She gave another gasping, "Oh my god."

Astringent giggled, shaking her dripping hand off.

Olivia though, seemed to not have recovered. "I thought, I thought…"

"You thought what?" Peter asked, a grin on his face.

Olivia didn't speak further, just walked stiffly to her makeshift office. Walter hurried after her, seeing she was utterly humiliated. He managed to get in the door before she shut it. They looked at each other for a moment before she confessed,

"I thought someone had shot at Peter."

It wasn't that Walter wasn't a sympathetic person, it was just most of the time he tried to see the glass half full. But now he felt horrible that his beloved son had scared the object of his affections so badly. Obviously her parents had never shown her the wonder of chemistry. Walter could see her eyes were all watered up, looking upward while she blinked rapidly.

"I'm sorry you were scared," he said gently.

The door creaked open and his son peeked his head in. "Hey, is every thing—"

"Peter, go away!" Walter snapped.

Peter frowned and grumbled, "Okay. Fine. Sheesh," before shut the door once more.

A tear had managed to find its way down Olivia's cheek and Walter could tell she looked ready to lie her way out of the situation so he spoke up quickly.

"Olivia, everything is fine," he assured kindly. "You're safe, Peter's safe. He was just being a boy. You know how that is! He has to work off all that sexual frustration somehow, you know."

She wiped away her tear and looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Making things catch fire and explode? He's just trying to get your attention. And because your feelings for one another are still slightly taboo, he has to get out all of that dissatisfaction one way or another. After all, if he can't have you, at least he gets to set things on fire and then watch them explode."

She was quiet for a moment and then said bluntly. "Walter, Peter doesn't like me like that."

"Oh, because you're an expert regarding love," he grumbled sarcastically as he turned to leave.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing!" he insisted cheerfully as he left her alone.

In the laboratory, it appeared everyone was trying to act as though nothing had happened: his assistant was calmly working on more of his papers and Peter was sitting at his little workstation. The tray he'd been working on was still left out in the open, the only sign anything had been going on. Gene was back to peacefully chewing her cud.

Walter slung an arm over his son's shoulder and whispered excitedly, "Bull's-eye, Peter! Now you're all she'll be able to think about!"

Peter shoved him off and gave a reprimanding, "Walter!"

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Omg omg omg you guys did you see wut I did there? Did you see the cameo I did of my EMT homies? YES. Now if you behave, I might let you show up again—after all, I'm sure there are still plenty of things Peter needs to buy ;) PS. I didn't know what you guys looked like or I'd have added more description :P_

_Also, I imagine after Olivia came out of the office, Peter very sweetly showed her what he did. Science for the win!_


	46. You Can Stand Under My Umbrella

**Chapter Title: **_**"**__You Can Stand Under My Umbrella"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Angst, Friendship_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG_

**Chapter Notes: **_Astrid doesn't feel happy all the time._

**Takes Place: **_Between 1.15 and 1.16_

**Song: **_"Umbrella" by Rhianna_

**Disclaimer:** _unbeta'd_

* * *

"_So go on and let the rain pour_

_I'll be all you need and more"_

* * *

It was nearly lunch time and Astrid was stretching out her hamstrings against one of the large structural columns in the laboratory; she had planned on going for a quick jog around campus but Olivia and Peter had been rushed off to some stupid meeting with Broyles regarding Dr. Bishop. She knew it was supposed to be an evaluation and she suspected she would be called in this evening, as if she had nothing better to do. So right now she was stuck babysitting Walter. Again.

A light drizzle had started outside and as she stretched down, touching her toes, she supposed it was probably a good thing she had missed the opportunity to go on her run. _'Well,'_ she thought to herself, _'at least I found a silver lining on this cloud.' _She glanced back up at the windows near the ceiling, seeing the overcast sky. _'No pun intended.'_

"Aspirin!" Walter called out.

She stood all the way back up, looking over to the scientist. "Yes?"

He pointed to the windows. "It's raining!"

She nodded. "I know."

"I'm hungry and Peter promised me lunch." He looked forlorn.

She gave a ragged sigh and found her purse. "Well, I can't leave you alone, so I guess we'll have to go out or order in."

Astrid went to the coat tree and found her jacket, but paused when she realised Dr. Bishop was being incredibly quiet. She looked back at him and saw the concerned appearance on his face.

"You seem a little down," he said pointedly.

She avoided his eyes as she put the jacket on. "Must just be the weather."

"Something more."

She sighed again and confessed, "I just feel under appreciated lately."

"Oh." He looked around a bit and then asked. "Is this because Mr. Broyles does not include you in on our little reindeer games when he calls us out for a case?"

"A little." She pretended to busy herself with her purse, but she could tell she wasn't fooling him. "I want to be taken seriously. I don't think anyone takes me seriously."

"I do."

"You're just saying that."

"No, I really do. You're very smart." He pointed to her hand. "And you have a lovely umbrella."

She looked down and saw she had pulled out the travel umbrella she had stashed away in her purse. It was Burberry, one that folded up nicely and slipped into a little cover that she tossed into her handbag this morning because the Boston weather was becoming so unpredictable now that winter was closing. She looked at the dun plaid pattern and she felt a little knot in her throat.

"My ex-boyfriend gave it to me, two weeks before I found out he was cheating on me with that girl from Starbucks," she said quickly, trying to fight back the suspicious watering of her eyes.

"You're much prettier than the girls from Starbucks." Walter paused then inquired, "We're not talking about the one by the postal office are we?"

"No."

"Okay, because the young lady with the brown hair who works there is rather pretty." He quickly added, "Though you have a nicer personality and I think you're far smarter, so I suppose you're more complete a package."

A smile fought to stay on her lips. "Thank you. I think."

"Let's take the metro to get some Indian food. I want a mango—no! PEACH lassi," he declared, finding his own coat. "And spinach naan."

She nodded, wiping at a slight tear that was starting to form. "Okay. Let me write a note for Olivia and Peter."

At the desk she wrote quick message, knowing she'd need to call the senior agent later to make sure she knew exactly where she and Dr. Bishop had headed off too. They locked the laboratory door behind them and huddled under the umbrella at the bus stop. Neither of them noticed the bald man standing off on the rolling greens, watching their every move through a pair of folding field glasses.

* * *

**A/N: _Ugh that was short :P_**


	47. Tea for Two

**Chapter Title: **_Tea for Two_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG-13_

**Chapter Notes: **_What would you talk about if you were stuck in an elevator?_

**Takes Place: **_After 1.16_

**Song: **_"Tea for Two" by Pink Martini_

**Disclaimer:** No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)

* * *

"_I'm discontented with homes that I've rented_

_So I have invented my own._

_Darling, this place is lovely oasis_

_Where life's weary taste is unknown"_

* * *

About ten minutes into "the crisis", Astrid simply decided to give up and be thankful that she and Walter hadn't met the same fates as Joseph Meegar's poor victims.

"This is so weird, especially after those people dying in that elevator," she observed, sitting down on the floor of the stuck elevator.

"We have nothing to worry about," Walter said casually as he sat down beside her, picking at bits of the carpet before looking at her suspiciously. "You aren't electrically charged, are you?"

She shook her head. "No, Dr. Bishop."

Astrid was a little surprised that he wasn't panicking but then she remembered that he had lived in a small room for seventeen years—this was probably a cake walk for him. At the moment they were trapped in his hotel building's elevator with two paper bags of groceries. Peter had needed to "do a little business" and requested that Astrid take his father home after they picked up food. Peter had even written up a little list with strict orders not to deviate despite anything Walter might say and an envelope full of flattened tens and twenties.

Walter dug around in the grocery bag while Astrid determined that there was no cellphone reception from inside this box. The scientist retrieved a brown glass bottle and said,

"I'll split a root beer with you. I'm saving the other one for Peter."

"You're not afraid of cooties?" she teased.

"You have good hygiene, so I'm sure there's nothing crawling around in your hair." She looked at him blankly, prompting him to explain, "Cooties are lice."

She felt her scalp involuntarily itch. "Oh. When I was in school, it meant the imaginary germs that boys and girls have."

"Much has changed since I was in school then." He looked at her curiously. "Do you have girl germs?"

"Dr. Bishop, it's just a game little kids play." He still looked skeptical and she sighed, holding her right hand up as if taking an oath. "I assure you, I have neither girl germs, nor lice."

He popped the top off the root beer, but withheld the drink from her. "Did you brush your teeth this morning?"

She raised a brow. "Yes, did you?"

"White for Walter," he assured and offered over the bottle.

She took a quick sip and passed it back to him. He quickly swallowed about a third of it and giving a satisfied gasp for air as he pulled away, he observed,

"Your chapstick tastes minty."

She nodded and wiped the rim of the bottle off with her sleeve. "It is."

Walter picked more at the carpet and then at her arm, asking, "I want to know more about cooties."

"Lice?" Astrid said, making a face.

"No, girl germs."

This really wasn't a topic she'd thought a lot about, even when she was still in elementary school. "Um, well, when I was little cooties kept boys and girls from touching one another. Boys would chase the girls around, threatening to wipe cooties on them. And vice versa."

His eyes widened. "And what would the cooties do?"

"I really don't know. But we got shots against them," she said with a shrug.

His eyes became even bigger. "Really?"

"Not real ones," she pointed out.

"What kind then?"

"Give me your arm," Astrid said, holding out her hand.

"Be gentle if sadism doesn't turn you on," he whimpered as he offered it to her.

On the back of his wrist she traced out the shapes as she said them. "Circle, circle, dot, dot, now you've got a cootie shot."

Walter looked utterly delighted as he stared where her fingers had touched. "Fascinating! And this will protect me against your cooties?"

"Uh, yes."

"Give me one to protect me from Olivia's cooties, too!"

"It's a broad spectrum inoculation," Astrid confided.

"That's very good news." His eyes shifted slightly. "Are you sure?"

"All right, give me your hand." She took his hand and began to trace again. "Square, dot, ex—"

"No more cooties during sex!" he finished happily.

She burst out laughing. "NO! I was going to say, 'square, dot, ex, line, now you're safe all the time'."

"Oh, that's good, too," he said, though he looked a little crestfallen.

He began to quietly chant the new information over and over; he must have noticed her someone confused face and he explained. "Now can I inoculate myself if this one wears off."

"Dr. Bishop, cooties aren't _real_." However she added with a bit of after thought, "Then again after all I've seen in the past few months, I suppose anything is possible."

He seemed to have not heard her. "When I was a graduate student, I had the smallest apartment one could imagine. It was in an old hotel, so the kitchen was barely large enough to turn around in and the bathroom was more or less a cupboard. Needless to say, it wasn't something I brought women back to."

She giggled into her hand and he smiled at her.

"But it had the most amazing view" he continued. "Oh, I wish you could have seen it. The windows in the bedroom looked out over the city skyline and in the morning the sun would rise up, filling the room with the warmest light you could imagine. It was one of the most beautiful things to wake up to.

"But Peter is what makes this place a home. Our hotel room is my favourite and my best residence. And we get room service if we call the nice lady at the front desk!"

The elevator jolted before she could comment and began to rise upwards again, prompting the two to stand up.

"Oh! It appears we have been rescued!" Walter said, clutching his bottle of root beer.

"I didn't mind spending time with you," Astrid confessed, brushing off her pant legs.

At the Bishop's floor, the elevator door opened and there stood a very relieved looking Peter with a maintenance man.

"Are you guys okay?" the younger Bishop asked, relieving Astrid of her grocery bag.

"We're fine," she assured.

Walter sidled up to his son and held out his index finger. "Peter, give me your arm…"

* * *

_**A/N:**__ I love this song so much and I've wanted to use it since November; hooray for finally getting to use it!_

_Random Fringe Prediction: __Rachel moves out, Liv goes to visit at her new place, Peter opens the door :O Scandalous!!!_


	48. Then I Woke Softly

**Chapter Title: **_"Then I Woke Softly"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Angst?_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG_

**Chapter Notes: **_I was hoping for this to be a friendship kind of chapter, but if it was a sucky attempt, let me know and I'll do another one!_

**Takes Place: **_Before 1.17_

**Song: **_"Proud Music of the Storm" by Walt Whitman (again)_

**Disclaimer:** _"No need to call the police!"_

* * *

"_Then I woke softly,_

_And pausing, questioning awhile the music of my dream,_

_And questioning all those reminiscences, the tempest in its fury,_

_And all the songs of sopranos and tenors"_

* * *

Walter could tell that Olivia wasn't interested in talking to him as he stared at her from the back seat of her vehicle. Peter was currently indisposed in a gas station bathroom, battling some bad curry they'd eaten last night. The silence was awkward and thick, making Walter wring his hands nervously. He wished his son would hurry up already because he didn't like having the blonde agent mad at him.

He played with his seatbelt buckle. "I'm going to check on my son."

"You're staying in the car," she said stiffly.

Walter made a frustrated noise as he swiveled his head around to look at the other cars receiving petrol. Neither Peter nor Olivia had allowed him out to wash the windshield, so he hadn't gotten the chance to play with murky water or clean off the splattered bugs that were so icky.

"I'm thirsty," he announced a few minutes later, playing with his seat belt again.

"You can wait until we get back to the lab," Olivia said coolly.

He huffed, fighting back tears—he really was thirsty! And it wasn't fair that Olivia was being so mean! Why was she being such a hard ass with him?

Oh, but he knew the reason. She was furious and hurt because of the talk they had regarding child experimentation. She was scared of what had been done to her and what he had done to others. Walter realised that he needed to make her feel safe again, a higher calling than getting a red-flavoured slushie from the convenience store. Leaning over the front seat, he said gently,

"You know, we really consider you to be a very important part of our lives."

"Because I provide a paycheck and got you out of the loony bin," she said sourly.

"No, only Peter could get me out of St. Claire's. And you don't need to give me money—"

"Sit down," she snapped.

He planted his ass back in the back seat. "Peter really likes you."

"Which is why he makes personal calls to my sister."

Walter hadn't known about this. "Ohhhh…"

The FBI agent looked a little humiliated and grumbled, "Just forget I even said anything."

"Why would he call your sister when he could have you? She wasn't a Playmate, was she?" he inquired, desiring all the facts to make an informed opinion.

A slight smile quirked on Olivia's lips. "No, she's a divorcée and single mother."

Walter let out a sigh and shook his head. "Oh, Peter. He gets that from his mother, you know—wanting to take care of the vulnerable. I suspect that's why he's so infatuated with y—"

He cut himself, realising he had said too much.

Her head snapped around to look at him. "What did you just say?"

"No, no…nothing," he said nervously, trying to play with the little button the rolled the windows up and down, but because the vehicle wasn't running, it just make a clicking noise.

"You started to say he was infatuated with me because he thinks I'm vulnerable." She squirmed in the front seat a bit and protested, "I'm not. I'm not weak."

"Being vulnerable doesn't mean you're weak, Olivia," Walter explained, suddenly feeling bad for making her doubt herself.

She still looked uncertain. "But what if Peter thinks that's what it means?"

"Peter would never fall in love with a weak woman," he said softly.

The front passenger door opened and Peter moved stiffly into the front seat with a hoarse, "Hey everybody."

Walter leaned over the front seat again. "Did you bring me a treat?"

Peter scowled at him. "Walter, I was puking in the bathroom. Buying candy for you wasn't at the top of my list."

"We'll get you a Pepsi through the Taco Bell drive through," Olivia offered as she backed out of the gas station parking lot.

"I also want a quesadilla. Cheese only," he insisted.

His son gave an irritated sigh. "Walter, don't nag for food."

"I'm not. I haven't had anything to eat in three hours." Walter smiled fondly at the blonde driving. "Are you hungry, Agent Dunham?"

She pulled out onto the street. "Not really."

"Full of the "food-for-thought" I gave you?" he teased.

Peter raised an eyebrow as he looked between them. "What food for thought?"

"Quesadillas," Olivia quickly replied.

"Yes, quesadillas."

* * *

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ Chuck has to pick between Olivia and Sonia though neither woman is aware of it._


	49. I Know What Boys Like

**Chapter Title:**_ I Know What Boys Like_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour, Whores_

**Chapter Rating:** _R_

**Guest Starring:** _Peter's POV!_

**Chapter Notes: **_Walter wants to give a conference regarding the amazing, but secret scientific discovery he made, but the Fringe crew obviously doesn't want to let him give a public presentation. So what are they going to do to make it a win-win situation? _

**Takes Place: **_after 1.18_

**Song: **_"I Know What Boys Like" by the Waitresses_

**Disclaimer: **_lol, I only own the hoes._

* * *

"_I know what boys like,_

_I know what guys want,_

_They talk about me,_

_I got my cat moves_

_That's to upset them_

_Zippers and buttons,_

_Fun to frustrate them"_

* * *

Olivia's finger pointed out to the sidewalk in front of a very rundown Weinerschitzel. "There's one!"

Peter pulled over slowly and rolled down the passenger door's window.

"Hey, are you looking to make a few quick bucks?" he called out to a scruffy looking blonde a few years past her prime leaning against the wall.

The woman glanced between Peter and Olivia then declared, "It's going to be more than a few if you watch."

"It's for modeling," Olivia clarified, which caused the woman to give a rough laugh. "No really! We need people to fill the seats at a scientific forum rehearsal, and we're desperate enough to pay at this point."

The woman still looked at them suspiciously, but came a little closer to the SUV. "How much?"

"One hundred dollars, plus you get donuts and coffee. It's an hour long and here's the address." Peter passed over a scribbled out address on a lined sheet of paper.

The woman looked it over, her eyebrows lifting when seeing the specification of _'Harvard'_. "Okay."

"You'll need to be there at 9:45. Don't be late," Olivia said kindly, still a little unsure how to talk to a prostitute.

The woman nodded and with that, they parted company.

* * *

"Well, this is quite a turnout," Astrid declared pleasantly as gaggle of prostitutes milled around the laboratory; all of them were overdressed (or under, depending on how one wanted to look at it) for something that was supposed to be a pseudo-science conference.

"At least we'll be reimbursed," Olivia said, looking a little awkward.

Peter waved his arms around. "If I can have everyone's attention? Okay, thank you for coming. You'll get paid at the end of the hour."

The prostitutes grumbled a bit, but obviously the money was easy and none of them were willing to pass that up.

"Now, if everyone could put a lab coat on?" he directed, pointing over to the clothes rack an assortment of lab coats were hanging from.

The women began to put them on, some admiring the embroidered "Doctor" title on their breast pockets.

"Don't we get stethoscopes, too?" asked one woman wearing a purple sequined skirt that was hardly more than a belt.

Peter frowned. "You're not that kind of doctor."

This led to more grumbling.

"What about latex gloves?" another woman asked, scratching at her thigh.

Peter slapped his forehead while Olivia explained, "There's no sex involved so you don't need them."

One woman who was snapping her gum loudly, gestured down to the rows of set up folding chairs. "So we're just going to sit here?"

"What's the catch?" another woman with pigtails asked.

"It's going to be boring," Peter warned.

"Now you just have to sit here and when he asks if anyone has questions, raise your hand and read off the card I've given you," he said passing out index cards to each prostitute.

Olivia raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said you didn't know what this symposium was for."

"I _don't_ know, but I kept the questions vague."

"I don't understand what this says," one woman complained.

"I don't care," he snapped.

"So we ask the questions and then we...?"

The woman pantomimed undressing and Peter shook his head. "No. There is no nudity involved. There is no sex involved. You just need to pretend to be interested." He pointed to a woman with peroxide blonde hair. "And button that damn thing up all the way."

The door opened and in peaked a very nervous looking Walter. Peter quickly waved the women into their seats as his father approached them.

"And here's the man himself," he said kindly as Walter joined their trio.

"You excited, Dr. Bishop?" Astrid asked as she carefully combed his hair.

Walter's curious eyes looked over the gathered 'audience'. "They're all women."

"Uh, there was an all women's conference in town," Peter offered as quickly.

His father nodded enthusiastically. "Of course. It was a good thing you managed to find them."

"Yep."

"That one's wearing fishnet stockings!" Walter said gleefully, looking at Peter for an explanation.

"They were on their way to a bar," Olivia lied.

"Ah. Look at that one's breasts, Agent Farnsworth! That's a real set of knockers, eh?" he said, elbowing her in the side and waggling his eyebrows.

"Walter…" Peter groaned as Astrid giggled.

Walter gently patted his son's shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm not looking for a stepmother for you."

Peter shook his head as he pushed his father towards the dry erase board they had set up. "That's really good to hear, Walter."

* * *

Walter looked quite proud of himself as he used the meter stick to point at the stick figure drawing of Gene on the dry erase board. Olivia was napping with her head on Peter's shoulder, and he himself was trying to stay awake, so he was more than thankful that his father's little talk appeared to finally be coming to an end.

"So in conclusion, that is why I believe that it is entirely feasible to make a _Bos taurus_ run entirely on solar energy. Thank you." Walter took a dramatic bow.

The prostitutes began to clap politely, which startled Olivia awake. Peter gave a slight smirk as he and Astrid added to the applause, which ceased once the women wearing the fishnet stockings stood up, looking at her index card.

"Dr. Bishop, is it possible to apply this to a more realistic sector of the economy?"

Walter looked at his cow drawing and then back to the 'audience'. "Um…I don't see why one would want to pass up the opportunity to hook a cow up to solar panels. Next question."

The prostitute with pigtails called out, "Dr. Bishop, do you feel like you wasted time coming up with this plan?"

Walter glowered. "No."

"Dr. Bishop, have you been testing this without supervision?" the Unnaturally Red Headed woman called out.

"Questions done!" he shrieked, waving his arms. "Take your donuts and leave!"

With Walter stomping off to the laboratory bathroom—loudly slamming the door—the prostitutes began lining up for the last donuts and to get their money from Peter and Olivia. Astrid collected the labcoats while giving polite "Thank you for coming!" and "Have a nice evening!"s.

Peter sighed, thankful that this evening was finally drawing to a close, and he turned to Olivia. "Wanna hit the vending machine?"

* * *

Astrid sat on the railings dividing the upper level of the laboratory to the lower, enjoying the silence of the vast room. Dr. Bishop finally emerged from the bathroom, still looking a little flustered.

"Are they gone?" he whispered loudly when he spotted her.

She smiled at him and nodded. "Yes, Walter."

He came over to her and offered up a pocket comb. "Those women scientists sure were hard hitters."

"Mmm hmm." She began combing his wild, graying curls.

He picked at the buttons on her sweater. "I should have challenged their degrees."

"Mmm hmm," she agreed

He began to turn away from her. "Maybe we should bring them back…?"

"No. Hold still," she said as she firmly kept him in front of her.

He was wearing the plum silk tie she had picked out for him many weeks ago to see Mrs. Warren. She thought it really brought out the colour in his eyes and she carefully unknotted the material; it bothered her that Walter simply tried to loosen it and throw it in a bottom desk drawer.

"Agent Farnsworth," he said softly. "Do you ever become afraid of the things you think?"

"What do you mean?" The question concerned her and she paused in removing his tie.

He continued to pluck at the large buttons over her left breast. "I just worry that I think things I shouldn't sometimes."

"Do you want to be specific?" She tilted her head slightly, watching him focus on her chest.

"No," Walter mumbled.

"Well if you ever need to talk, you can always come to me. You know that right?" she said gently, wondering why she wasn't more alarmed about where his hands were at the moment.

"Of course I know that." They were quiet for a moment and Walter asked softly, "Miss?"

"Yes?"

He stepped a little closer, still fumbling with the buttons on her sweater.

"Did you enjoy my presentation?"

She nodded. "Of course. I found it quite interesting."

"I'm glad." He pulled at her springy hair, his other hand resting on her shoulder. "That one doctor had a huge set of boobs. Did you see them?"

She bit back a snort. "I really wasn't paying attention to that."

He took a half step closer and leaned his forehead against hers, though he wasn't meeting her eyes. "Like watermelons."

"That's exciting to hear," she complimented, touching one of the pens he had in his pocket protector. "I think it was a success."

"I agree. You should congratulate me, you know."

She smirked. "Not if you're going to go on about some hooker's boobs."

His head pulled away from her. "Hooker? My dear, you shouldn't speak about people like that."

"Oh, sorry," she said quickly, realising she'd almost let the secret about the prostitutes slip.

"It's okay." He smiled at her and playfully tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. "Where do you suppose my son is?"

Astrid watched him drift away, distracted momentarily by an empty flask. "He wanted alone time with Olivia."

"Ohhhh." Walter set the flask back on the counter. "We should run away together."

"I beg your pardon?" she sputtered.

"I think you and I should just run off. Like a roadtrip. You have a company credit card, don't you?"

"Uh, well, but," she protested, somewhat flustered just as the door to the laboratory opened and a giggling duo of Peter and Olivia, sharing a bag of peanut M&Ms, stumbled in.

"Just a thought, my lamb," he said softly and turned to face the other two. "Ready to go home, Peter? I'm utterly knackered from my lecture."

Peter passed off the candies to Olivia. "Of course, Walter. Grab your coat and we can put things away in the morning."

Walter and Peter put their spring coats on and the scientist turned to her once more.

"Let me know when you get that company card, won't you?"

"Sure," she breathed, giving him a final smile before he disappeared with Peter out the door.

Olivia looked at her, giving her a confused smile. "Company card? What's that about?"

Astrid avoided her fellow agent's eyes, feeling a blush on her cheeks. "Oh, nothing."

The blonde gathered up her purse as Astrid found her own coat. "Ah. You know it's really great that you and Walter get along so well."

She shrugged, unable to keep her lips from curling upwards. "What can I say? I know what boys like."

* * *

**A/N:** _SHAMELESS!!! :O_


	50. There's Something Wild About You Child

**Chapter Title: **_"__There's Something Wild About You Child __That's So Contagious"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour, Friendship, Epidemic, Barf_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG-13_

**Chapter Notes:**_ What happens when it isn't Walter who's sick?_

**Takes Place: **_Right after 1.18_

**Song:**_ "Let's Misbehave" as sung by Elvis Costello_

**Disclaimer:** _unbeta'd as always ;)_

* * *

"_They say that Spring means just one little thing to little lovebirds_

_We're not above birds--let's misbehave!!!"_

* * *

Still slumped on the cool floor between the shower and toilet, Astrid shakily dialed Peter Bishop's cellphone number. She rested her head on the edge of the toilet seat as she listened the sound of ringing.

Finally after the third ring, Peter picked up. "Hello?"

She closed her eyes and rubbed at her temple, barely able to whisper, "It's Astrid."

"Is everything okay?"

"I'm really sick." She wondered briefly is she was bothering the Bishops on this Saturday morning.

He sounded worried. "Do you need help?"

"I think so. I'm feeling pretty weak," she admitted, feeling defeat.

"We'll be right over."

"Thank you," she murmured hoarsely.

She closed her cell phone and set it back down on the floor, moaning slightly. Her mouth tasted dreadful from the vomit and she was fairly sure she managed to get some of it in her hair, which was utterly disgusting. Her whole body felt hot, but she knew that within a few moments she'd probably break out in a cold sweat. Her sweat clothes felt kind of grungy but she didn't have the energy to stand up, let alone change into something more presentable.

It was about fifteen minutes later when Astrid heard her front door being opened.

"Astrid?" Peter called out.

Her throat ached so she opted to tap her knuckles on the shower door to let him know where she was. She could hear footsteps approaching through her bedroom and soon Peter and Walter were standing in her bathroom doorway, looking down at her resting against her commode.

"Hello, young lady. How are you?" Walter asked cheerfully, going to her sink and wetting one of her washcloths.

"Icky. How are you?" she rasped as he knelt beside her and began to wipe the cool cloth across her face gently.

"Bored. Peter's sick and I have to be quiet," the scientist huffed as he dabbed at her temple.

She looked curiously at Peter. "You're sick, too?"

"It feels like a little cold, nothing to worry about," he quickly assured, but she thought he looked a little pallid.

Walter began to help her to her feet. "Come on, my dear. Why don't you slip into something more comfortable and let me take care of you?"

Astrid made a face and Peter quickly clarified, "I don't think Walter meant that the way it sounded."

"I hope not. I think I barfed up my liver," she joked as she was led into her bedroom.

The scientist shook his head. "That's highly unlikely, young lady. You see, the liver—"

"WALTER!" she shrieked, jumping out of his reach as he tried to pull down her sweatpants waistband.

"Oops! Sorry. Why don't I let you do that?" he said smiling sheepishly as she kept a tight grip on her clothes.

"Could we cook you some soup while you get dressed?" Peter asked as he began pushing his father out of the bedroom door.

"That would be nice," she admitted, her cheeks still hot.

"I'll turn on the television," Walter offered before Peter pulled the door shut.

Astrid let out a sigh as she sat down on the edge of her bed, trying to catch her breath. Her whole self was exhausted from vomiting all through the night and her internal clock was keeping her from resting, used to being awake and "doing" something at this time of the morning.

When she finally maintained the energy to put on new clothes, she left her bedroom to find Peter and Walter milling around her apartment, heating soup on the stove and arranging her couch's throw pillows for her to relax back on. Walter helped her to the couch and she announced quite decidedly,

"You guys, I think I have the flu."

"I brought my test kit! Let me take a sample!" Walter begged, pulling out his familiar duffle bag from behind the couch.

Reminded of children playing doctor, she watched him pull out a small bag with a makeshift collection of medical paraphernalia. He pulled out some exceptionally long wooden handled cotton swab used for culture collecting.

"Be gentle," she requested.

"Open wide," he instructed as he poised the cotton swab in front of her mouth.

She squeezed her eyes shut and felt something gently brush at the back of her throat, but before she could gag, the object was gone and Walter was sticking the tip of the wet cotton into the bottom of an auger filled test tube.

"Peter!" Walter sang. "I want to incubate this!"

"The incubator is in your pack," the younger Bishop called out from the kitchen.

"You have an incubator to grow viruses and germs?" Astrid asked, completely shocked as Walter began digging through his duffle bag again.

"Peter made it for me to play with! I've been testing all sorts of things!" he suddenly became very solemn. "Promise me you'll never order from Long Thai restaurant.

Peter nodded fervently. "You don't even want to know what we cultured from their sticky noodles."

Astrid's stomach quelled. "Gross."

"Indeed," Walter said as he pulled an odd, toaster sized object out of the duffle bad and opened its lid to slip the test tube inside.

He turned a dial that reminded her of a egg timer and the little device was sat on her coffee table, quietly ticking away.

Peter glanced back at her, still stirring the soup at the stove. "You wanna grilled cheese sandwich?"

She shook her head. "I don't eat dairy."

"Lactose intolerant?" Walter chirped. "I can make you something to counteract that, you know—"

She shook her head. "I just don't like cheese."

Walter was quiet for a moment and then said somberly, "I don't think I want to be friends with you anymore."

"Walter," Peter chastised.

Walter continued rummaging through his bag, though his eyes were focused on her suspiciously. "She doesn't like cheese. That's not normal, Peter."

"She's allowed to not like cheese. You hate hot cereal, remember?" the younger Bishop reminded.

"That's completely different and I've explained this to you! Oatmeal is like boiled, lumpy boogers. Gross!" he spat angrily.

"Have you tested Peter's cold yet?" Astrid asked, trying to change the subject.

"No, he won't let me," Walter pouted.

Astrid smiled at the younger Bishop man. "C'mon, Peter. It'll be fun."

Peter gave a hacking cough. "Fine. But I'll take the swabbing myself."

"You won't regret it," Walter assured as he brought over one of the long q-tips to his son at the stove.

Peter took the cotton swab and made an irritated noise as he poked it to the back of his throat. He handed it over to his father who happily smeared the saliva into a second auger filled test tube.

"Oh man, this is how all my parties should start," Astrid joked as Walter quickly placed it into the tube into the still ticking incubator.

"Lab tests?"

She winked at him. "Exactly."

Peter shook his head and handed her a glass of something that looked like iced tea. "Drink this."

She obeyed and was quickly sputtering as the warm liquid burned her throat.

Peter grinned. "Scotch and honey. You're welcome."

"What is this? The Bishop version of Dayquil?" she said, thumping her breastbone with her fist as all of her phlegm loosened.

"The Peter Bishop version of cough syrup," he corrected.

"Tasty," she joked.

"And the soup is almost done. Do you want a cup or a bowl?" he asked as he went back to the kitchen area.

"A cup. I think that's about all I can eat right now."

"Walter? Cup or bowl?" Peter inquired.

"I want a mug. I'm going to just drink the broth," the scientist decided.

"Do you want a straw?"

"_Yeeeeeeesssss_," Walter dragged out as he contemplated.

Peter returned to the living room with a breakfast tray containing a teacup, coffee mug, and shallow bowl containing the steaming chicken soup.

"This is really good. Thank you," she said as she accepted her teacup.

He sat down heavily on the opposite of the couch. "No problem."

Quietly, the three began to eat their soup and it wasn't until she was halfway through her chicken soup that the sound of a timer went off and Walter clapped his hands together, delighted.

"Ooh! The samples are done!"

Walter opened up the incubator and proceeded to remove some of the cultures that Astrid and Peter had provided. Softly he hummed as he prepared the slides and Astrid pulled the throw off the back of the couch to put over her legs; there appeared to be a draft in the room and the light pink sweatpants she was wearing didn't seem to be helping.

"Agent Farnsworth, will you hand me a slide?" Walter asked, holding out his hand as he fiddled with the microscope. After a moment of getting no response, he looked up at them, suddenly appearing a little surprised. "Where are we?"

Peter gave an irritated frown. "We're at her apartment."

"Oh. You don't look so well," he commented after looking her once over.

She lay her head on the armrest. "I'm sick."

"Ah. Maybe you should get that looked at." Walter rummaged around in his duffle bag and pulled out a glass thermometer. Slipping a protective plastic sleeve over the end, he held it up to her face. "Open your mouth, please."

Astrid accepted the thermometer into her mouth, the cool glass resting comfortably under her tongue. Walter quietly began studying the slides under the microscope, making thoughtful noises. Peter cleaned their dishes off the coffee table and when he returned to the couch, Walter looked up from the microscope and turned to them.

"I've got good news and bad news."

"Bad news first," Astrid said around the thermometer in her mouth.

"It's probably going to take a few days to clear up."

"And the good news?" Peter asked.

"It's swine flu!" Walter chirped.

The room was silent for a moment and Astrid had to clarify. "_How_ is that good news?"

"It's _swine flu_," the scientist enunciated.

"Walter..." Peter groaned.

"It's all right, my little lambs! I'll take care of you!" Walter insisted cheerfully, bustling around the living room, finding them tissues and old Marie Claire's to read.

"Walter, you have to promise to let the hospital take care of us if we need it," Astrid demanded.

"Of course," he nodded casually, fluffing the throw pillow behind Peter.

"Even if you don't think that we do," she insisted.

"Yes."

Something dawned on Astrid. "We need to check on Olivia. Make sure she's not sick, too."

Walter snatched Peter's cell phone off the coffee table and danced out of their reach. "Let me call. I'm the doctor!" he whined.

"Fine," the younger of the Bishop men grumbled and Walter happily dialed the number.

"Hello? Agent Olivia Dunham? This is Dr. Walter Bishop. I wo—oh, good! You remember me! I was calling to ask you if you were feeling well. You are? Good, good—no I did not expose you to anything!" he snapped. "My son and Agent Farnsworth are both sick and we wanted to make sure you were all right. If you start feeling ill, go to the hospital and have yourself tested for Swine Flu." He paused again for a moment. "No, you don't need to send anyone over. I'm taking very good care of them. And I've already promised that I'll seek additional help if they need it."

Walter pulled the phone away from his ear and passed it over to Peter. "She wants to talk to you."

Peter cleared his throat. "Hey, Olivia. No, we're okay. Yeah. No. No, seriously. Nah, we don't need anything, just rest. Yeah, I'll call. Okay. Take care."

Peter closed his cell phone and was quiet for a moment, slowly rocking back and forth as his lips clenched and his face went white.

"If you'll excuse me," he said politely before he stood up and ran to the bathroom.

Astrid and Walter looked at one another as sounds of loud retching reached their ears.

"You okay?" she called out, knowing exactly what he was going to say.

"Yeah," he called back.

Walter frowned and mumbled, "I'll go check him."

"Okay."

Walter returned, supporting Peter. Sitting down heavily on the opposite end of the couch, she could see his eyes had watered slightly.

"So I guess we know that it really is Swine Flu," he joked weakly.

"At least it's not anthrax," Walter said sympathetically.

Peter frowned at him. "You've never had anthrax."

Walter put his hands on his hips. "Yes, I have."

"No, you **haven't**."

"Have too. Stop arguing." Walter clapped his hand together happily. "I'm going to make my little boy a treat! So you sit right here, puke into the plastic bag and uh," he paused as he looked at the cover of one of her Marie Claire magazines, "read about how to please your man!"

Walter wandered off to the kitchen and Peter made a face as he studied the magazine. "Astrid, do you really read this crap?"

She felt her face get hot and she snatched it out of his hand, tossing it across the room. "No. As you can see, those are all old issues brought over by my cousin. I haven't been bothered to throw them out yet."

Seven minutes later, Walter returned with two small bowls of something steaming hot. "Look at what I've made."

"Tapioca. Where did you find this?" she said, a little surprised.

"I brought it with me. I thought I might surprise you." He handed one of the bowls to Peter. "And one for you. I know it's your favourite."

"Thank you, Walter."

"Thank you," she said happily as she ate a few sweet spoonfuls.

"You know, when I was little, Walter would tell me that I was eating frog eggs." Astrid paused in eating her tapioca and made a face. Peter's lost his smile and turned to Walter. "Uh oh, it looks like she's going to puke."

"On it!" Walter exclaimed cheerfully as he held out a plastic bag lined wastebasket under her nose just in time.

When she finished throwing up her tapioca, Astrid glared at Peter who smiled back at her.

"Sorry," he apologised as he took another bite of his white desert.

"Don't mention it," she moaned as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"No blood," Walter commented, peeking into the wastebasket.

"Walter…" Peter grumbled.

"Drink some water and rest your head," the scientist murmured softly.

Astrid gave an exhausted sigh as she lay her head back down on the couch's armrest, allowing him to gently stroke her forehead. She closed her eyes, for just a moment as the faint sound of the television continued to play…

* * *

She awoke up to the sound of someone coughing many hours later. Astrid sleepily looked around and saw Peter hacking up into the plastic lined wastebasket that Walter was patiently holding out for him.

"Hey," Peter said weakly as he noticed her.

She gave a tired smile and sat up, her mouth tasting wretched and feeling dry.

"Hello, young lady. Feeling better?" Walter inquired, moving over to her side and adjusted the throw she had wrapped around her legs.

"A little. I'm thirsty though."

Walter hurried off to the fridge and brought back a green aluminum can. "Ginger ale."

"Thank you," she said sweetly as she tapped the top popped it open. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to get a watch," Walter quipped as Peter said,

"Almost five."

Astrid stretched her sore arms. "Jeez, I must have been really tired."

"You're a quiet sleeper." Walter turned to Peter and said, "Well, it's time to go home, my dear boy. The Hallmark Channel will be showing my Golden Girls marathon soon and I'd hate to miss that."

"Hold on, Walter." Peter, eyes still closed and head leaned back, didn't move from his seat and moments later gave a defeated, "Hey Astrid. I don't think I can drive home."

She glanced at her phone. "Should I call a cab?"

He opened one eye to glance at her. "No, I mean I don't think I can walk down the hallway to elevator."

"Well, I have an extra trundle bed and the fold out couch."

"It's very comfortable," Walter said, nodding at his son.

"I don't mind if you want to stay over. In fact, it would probably be for the best, you know? That way, if one of us gets worse, the other can call the hospital," Astrid said, suddenly feeling a little excited that she was going to have company.

Peter closed his eyes once more. "Good point."

Astrid nodded. "Okay. My trundle bed is on runners attached to my bedframe, so two people can use the bedroom or two people can bunk on the fold out couch."

"I'll gladly sleep at the foot of your bed," the scientist said, rubbing her shoulders.

"Walter, you will not sleep in a room with her," Peter snapped. "And I'm not sharing a bed with Walter because he kicks in his sleep."

"Hmmm…" Astrid relaxed against Dr. Bishop's hands.

"I'll take the trundle, you'll have your bed, and Walter can have the couch," Peter decided.

Dr. Bishop's hands paused for a moment. "Astringent, may I sleep in your closet? I hate being alone."

"Walter, you'll sleep on the fold out, but I'm sure we can reach a compromise by keeping the bedroom door open," the younger Bishop said.

Astrid tilted her head back look up at the mad scientist. "Do you want me to turn on your Golden Girl's marathon?"

"Oh yes! That Blanche is such a slut!"

"And you see what I have to live with," Peter grumbled as they watched Walter climb over the top of the couch to sit between them.

Astrid simply smiled.

* * *

Walter had decided it was everyone's bedtime, so they'd all (separately) changed into their pyjamas and Astrid had put fresh sheets and blankets on both the fold out couch and the trundle bed. Walter had very kindly tucked both her and Peter into their respective beds for the night and at the moment he was reading them a bedtime story that he'd apparently been spending his free time typing up.

"And then Scotty beamed Captain Kirk and Spock back up to the Enterprise. The End."

"Walter, I had no idea you wrote fan fiction," Astrid said, trying not to laugh.

Dr. Bishop looked quite proud and she could imagine Peter was rolling his eyes.

"I was so disappointed when they did not continue the show past the third season. I decided it was my duty as a devoted enthusiast to continue on their legacy," he explained.

"You know, they made other spinoff shows—"

"Bah! It's not the real thing!" Walter spat.

From the floor, Peter critised, "Walter, that story was ridiculous even by Will Shatner standards."

Astrid patted the older man's hand soothingly. "Don't listen to him. I loved it."

Walter nodded. "Would you like me to sing you a lullaby?"

"Yeah," she said, fighting back a smile as she pulled the blankets up closer.

Walter cleared his throat and began to sing passionately. "You could have a great career and you should, yes you should. Only one thing stops you dear, you're too good, we're too good. If you want a future darlin', why don't you get a past, cause that fatal moment's comin' at last…"

Astrid's mouth broke into a large grin, recognising her favourite Cole Porter song.

"We're all alone, no chaperone can get our number, the world's in slumber, let's misbehave!"

She giggled as Walter continued.

"There's something wild about you child, that's so contagious. Let's be outrageous! Let's misbehave! When Adam won Eve's hand, he wouldn't stand for teasin'. He didn't care about those apples out of season! They say that Spring means just one little thing to little _loooooovebirds__._ We're not above birds—let's misbehave! It's getting late and while I wait my poor heart aches on. Why keep the breaks on? Let's misbehave! I feel quite sure affaire d'amour would be attractive, while we're still active—let's misbehave!"

Peter made a grumbling noise on the floor as Walter wiggled about to the sound of the music in his head. He took her hands in his and continued the song, which he was now bellowing.

"You know my heart is true and you say you for me care! Somebody's sure to tell, but what the heck do we care? They say that bears have love affairs and even camels! We're men and mammals—_**let's misbehaaaaaave**_!!!"

Astrid beamed as he lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

"Are you putting the moves on me?" she teased hoarsely.

"It doesn't bother me that you smell like barfed up rice pudding and chicken noodle soup," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

"Walter, I'm in the goddamn room. Stop it. You're making me want to puke again." Peter made a gagging noise from the floor.

Walter crawled across the bed to lean over and look down at Peter. "Use the bucket, dear boy."

Astrid carefully moved her legs out of his way, still too sick to complain that he was not someone she wanted on top of her at the moment.

"I should probably get some rest. Peter, too," she suggested as he reached the opposite side of the bed.

"I have a bedtime that I'm pretty sure has passed anyway." He hopped onto Peter's trundle mattress and leaned down to pat his son on the head before leaving the room. "Sleep well, don't let the swine flu bite!"

"Hey, Astrid. You still awake?" Peter asked a few minutes later, the only other noise in the apartment being Walter singing softly to himself in the living room.

She snorted. "Yes."

"Sorry if my dad weirds you out," he apologised.

"It's okay. He really doesn't." She thought of him kissing her hands and was thankful the darkness of the bedroom hid her smile. "He's sweet."

"Sweet?"

She shrugged, though she knew he couldn't see. "Yeah. He's just trying to be a father."

Peter made a noise of contentment. "Mmmm, sleep well, Astrid."

Astrid snuggled against her pillow, smiling. "Sleep well, Peter."

* * *

Astrid awoke to the sound of a "ding!" far off in the distance and stretched under her very warm comforter. She'd never been the type of person to have "morning cloudiness" where she'd forget she was sleeping in hotel bed or that she'd done something important the day before, so she was immediately aware of both Bishop men being in her apartment.

In fact, Walter pushed open the bedroom door carrying a breakfast tray.

"Morning!" he sang as she came around to her side of the bed.

"Good morning," she said softly as she sat up against her headboard.

From somewhere on the floor, Peter sleepily mumbled, "Ten more minutes, Walter."

"I made you chicken soup!" Walter said enthusiastically.

"And it's got little stars. Thank—not under the covers," she growled as he tried to get into her bed with her.

"My feet are cold," he whined, stomping his foot.

She really couldn't turn him away. "Only your feet."

"Ooh, I like your bed," he said after he forced her to slide over to the opposite side of the mattress.

"Did you heat this in the microwave?" she asked as she cooled a spoonful of the soup.

"Yes. I like watching the food spin 'round."

She slurped down the first spoonful of soup, not having realised how hungry she was until now. "How come you don't have the flu?"

"Don't feel like it," he said casually as took her copy of _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ off the nightstand.

"Of course," she agreed as he opened to the centre of the book and began to read.

Astrid continued eating her breakfast of chicken noodle soup with stars and he quietly continued reading. She almost laughed at how cliché a Sunday morning this looked, a couple staying in to eat breakfast and read—

The bowl of soup fell out of her hands and spilled all over her comforter, causing Walter to curse loudly as he tried to mop the chicken broth off her lap with a sweater she had on the end of her bed.

Had she just referred to them as a couple?

"What's going on?" Peter asked sleepily as he peaked his head over the side of the mattress.

"Astroglide spilled her soup and she's not doing anything to help clean it up!" Walter said sounding frustrated.

"How come you didn't bring me soup?" Peter complained as he stood up.

"You were sleeping," Walter explained, tossing the soup-saturated sweater onto the floor.

"I was sleeping, too, Walter," Astrid reminded as the Bishop men pulled her comforter off her bed, bundling it up as a team.

"But I knew you would be hungry," he assured.

"Did you lose your grip?" Peter asked and Astrid avoided his eyes.

"Yeah, something like that."

Walter tossed the comforter into her laundry bin. "I'll bring you more soup."

Peter yawned and shuffled off to the bathroom. "I think I need to shower."

In the kitchen Walter sang loudly and behind the shut bathroom door, the sound of water ran; Astrid brought her knees up to her chest and rest her chin on them. It was definitely an odd morning, but something about it seemed wonderful. It was absolutely different than her usual quiet weekend mornings, but it seemed more complete, as though this was something she'd been missing and wanting. She smiled as Walter returned with another bowl of chicken noodle and stars.

"I'm really glad you're here, Walter," she said softly.

He kissed her on the forehead before handing her the bowl of soup.

"I'm glad I'm here, too."

* * *

**A/N: **_Wow, this was a long one!_

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ Olivia's AU versions of everyone show up again!_


	51. You Make My Heart Go Giddiup

**Chapter Title:**_ "You Make My Heart Go Giddup"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Family/Friendship, Awkward Moments, Humour!_

**Chapter Rating:** _M/M+ for dirty talk? This may not be safe to read aloud/at school/at work/while eating or drinking._

**Chapter Notes: **_Peter decides that Walter simply can't make midnight phone calls anymore. Seriously._

**Takes Place: **_Right before 1.19_

**Song: **_"My Girl Lollipop" as sung Bad Manners_

**Disclaimer:** _No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)_

* * *

**_"My girl Lollipop, you make my heart go giddy up,  
You set my world on fire, you are my one desire,  
Yeah, my girl Lollipop, my girl Lollipop,  
My girl Lollipop, my girl Lollipop,  
My girl Lollipop, oooh little Lollipop"_  
**

* * *

"Absolutely not. I'd like to see you try."

Peter's eyes didn't open completely, though he knew it was very late at night and he was pretty sure that he was hearing his father talking, thought there was a good possibility that his TV had just been left on instead. He was absolutely exhausted and frankly, he really just didn't care about the faint noise. He had been enjoying a dream where he was running track and actually winning—

"Red lipstick? You little tart! Oh no, I'm sure it would look nice on you in the right context."

Peter frowned, but decided that he was probably overhearing something on HBO. Now, if he could just get back to sleep…

"Oh my heavens, dear! That is positively scandalous! You could _charge_ for that kind of talent!"

No, now Peter was more than sure that he was hearing Walter's voice after all. But what on earth—

"Yes, well, I'd simply pour that milkshake all over your body. Vanilla. Hah! No, maraschino cherry nipples would be tacky."

Peter's eyes shot open, horrified at what he was hearing.

"Walter?" he called out as he fell off the couch onto the hotel floor.

"Well, then maybe you shouldn't wear stockings either. Just the high heels," his father continued, his voice not coming from the bed where he should have been.

"Walter?" Peter called out again, this time a little more frantic as he stumbled around their hotel room.

Walter gave a delighted cackle. "Ooh, you nasty girl! I'd spank you for that!"

Peter spotted the light from beneath the closet door and quickly threw it open. Indeed his father was sitting on the floor, eating a small pile of jellybeans off the carpet while talking on his cell phone.

Walter was in the process of putting a green candy in his mouth. "Oh yes, I would! I'd bend you over my lap—"

"Get. In. Bed. NOW."

"Hey!" his father screamed angrily as Peter snatched the phone from him and threw it across the room.

"NOW WALTER!" Peter bellowed, furious.

Walter threw his jellybeans to the ground and stormed off to his bed, where he pulled the covers up over his head, making angry noises. Peter went back into the sitting room where his couch was and searched out his cellphone in the dark. The back had fallen off and the battery had popped out, so once he put the device back together, he checked the caller ID for the call his father had made.

No, he didn't recognise the number at all, though the area code was definitely from Boston. For a moment he contemplated calling back to see who was on the other end, but he simply decided to turn the phone off entirely and go back to bed.

Needless to say, he really didn't sleep well the rest of the night.

* * *

The next morning, Walter was still cranky towards him and Peter was still irritated that his father had woken him up with talk of…

Peter shuddered.

Well, it really wasn't something he wanted to think about. At all.

Olivia had called to say she was coming in late, which was a relief because he wasn't sure he could look at her without thinking of "maraschino cherry nipples". Astrid, on the other hand, showed up on time as always, though she looked a little worn out. As she hung up her coat on the laboratory's coat tree, she asked,

"Hey, Peter. Did I call you last night?"

Peter looked up at her, feeling his heart stop. "That was _you_?"

Astrid sat down heavily in one of the office chairs near his workstation. "One of my college friends was having a bachelor party and my personal cell phone ran out of juice so I took my work one with me and I got kinda drunk and when I woke up this morning I saw I had made a two hour long call to your cell phone...Why are you looking at me like that?"

Peter wasn't sure if he wanted to gag or fall to the floor laughing. "_You_ were the one having phone sex with my father?"

"It wasn't phone sex, Peter!" Walter insisted for the thousandth time that morning.

Astrid's eyes were as large as saucers. "You're not serious, are you?"

Peter grimaced. "I woke up to Walter discussing milkshakes, maraschino cherries, and nudity."

"Oh god."

"It wasn't phone sex! It wasn't!" Walter insisted dramatically. "We were merely discussing...Peter, would you define phone sex to me? Whisper it in my ear so as not to embarrass this young lady here." Peter leaned over to his father and with a few quiet words, gave an explanation. His father pulled away, looking contemplative for a moment. "Ohhhhhhhh...Yes, yes, that sounds exactly right."

"Oh god...please don't tell Olivia. I don't want this on my record." Astrid looked as though she might cry. "Oh god, oh god, oh god, I'm going to lose my job!"

His father patted her shoulder. "It's okay, my dear. I don't remember the specifics of the event either. Well, except that you claimed to be exceptionally talented with a—"

"Okay, too much information!" Peter shouted, covering his ears.

Astrid groaned loudly as Walter shrugged and wandered over to Gene's stall.

Peter shook his head. "Wait, you said bachelor party. You mean with men?"

She buried her head in her hands. "Yes, as in we went to a strip club and helped some nice young ladies put themselves through college. I'm never drinking again."

He gave a weak laugh. "Astrid, how drunk _were_ you?"

"I woke up in the suite's bath tub wearing a top hat, a tin foil binkini, and two hickeys." She pulled aside her turtleneck and he could see the twin plum marks on her neck.

"Don't you just hate it when that happens?" Walter called out.

Both Astrid and Peter glared in his direction.

"Every bachelor party I've ever been to has just been poker games that last too long," Peter said as he began to focus on the little watch parts he had lined up on a paper towel.

"You know, you could have hung up instead of letting me make an ass out of myself!" Astrid said angrily at his father.

"I could have, but I didn't," Walter said in a dreamy tone while he continued brushing Gene.

"Walter, if the FBI or Olivia finds out about this, I'll lose my job! I won't be able to work with you anymore," she continued and Peter noticed her hands were balled into fists.

"Astrid, I'm not going to narc on you. There's no reason for anyone else to become involved," Peter insisted. "And I really don't want to talk about it again in the first place."

Astrid let out a long sigh, spinning in her seat slightly but it wasn't long before a mischievous smile crossed her lips.

"Hey, Walter," she called out.

Peter watched his father look up from brushing Gene. "Yes, young lady?"

"Was I good?"

Peter made a gagging noise and Walter smiled innocently at her.

"Good at what, my dear?"

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Written in honour of the season finale. And of course in poor taste ;)_

_Random Fringe Prediction:__ someone will comment that William Bell looks like Spock._


	52. Epilogue!

**Chapter Title: **_Epilogue-"But It Makes Me Kinda Nervous to Say So"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Romantical, humour_

**Chapter Rating:** _PG-13 for discussed nudity_

**Chapter Notes: **_After the past few months together, how do Astrid and Walter conclude Season One?_

**Takes Place: **_After 1.20_

**Song: **_"Think I'm in Love" by Beck_

**Disclaimer:** _none!_

* * *

_"I really think I better get a hold of myself  
Don't wanna let the night get ahead of myself  
Whisperin' her love through a smoke ring smile  
She doesn't know what happens when she's around"_

* * *

It was mid-afternoon in the laboratory and Astrid was sorting out small noodle shapes with Walter on a metal tray, dividing green spinach twists from pinkish tomato bowties from black squid ink shells. For the past few days, Walter had been quiet and somewhat emotional: crying at seemingly random times, whimpering, and at one point she'd reached out to touch his shoulder and he'd cringed as though she might strike him. Today though, she had noticed he seemed to be warming up to people again; he'd shared a few M&Ms with her, brought her a spring flower to put in her hair, and offered to help her clean up the bag of powdered sugar he'd knocked onto the floor.

And now they were working on making glued noodle pictures together. Astrid had sketched out the outline of Gene for herself and the outline of Betsy for Walter. Peter was milling around the lab, finding parts for his next project while Olivia was off somewhere in New York and Agent Francis was looking through the books the Bishops had provide about alternate universes.

"Do you own a fur coat?" Walter asked quietly.

She glanced up from the green noodle in her hand. "No."

"Oh." He began to pick at the golden spaghetti strands she'd set aside for the spikes Betsy had. "Have you ever wanted to own a fur coat?"

She shrugged. "Maybe a faux fur one. Like, lime green or electric blue."

"Oh." He nodded and then looked at her thoughtfully. "It would have to be a long one, you know."

"Okay," she agreed, wondering what on earth he was talking about.

Walter handed her the paste jar and she unscrewed it for him. They quietly began to make their pictures of the two lab animals and right as her mind started to wander, the scientist enquired,

"Have you ever heard the story about the time when Hemingway met Josephine Baker?"

"I don't believe I have."

"It's a good one." Walter began to cap his fingertips with the black hued shells. "One warm evening in Paris as he strolled along the river walk, Hemingway came across Mme Baker wearing a rather large fur coat. 'Why are you wearing that coat?' he asked. Baker smiled and opened the coat for him to see she was completely naked. 'A girl's got to wear something,' she replied."

Astrid smirked, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. "Was that my history lesson for the day?"

"More of a suggestion," he murmured and for the first time that morning, gave a smile.

"Dr. Bishop!"

Astrid and Walter looked up to see Charlie Francis staring at them in absolute horror.

"What's he doing now?" Peter called out, though his attention seemed more focused on the shoebox full of nuts and bolts that Astrid had set out for him.

Francis pointed a finger at Walter and said, "He just said that Astrid should to wear nothing but a fur coat so she could flash him!"

"Walter, were you telling her the story about Josephine Baker and Ernest Hemingway?" Peter said in an almost bored tone.

Dr. Bishop winked at her before replying, "Just giving a history lesson, my dear boy."

* * *

**A/N: **_Well, it's been real, kids. I had a lot of fun writing these, but now that Season One is through, so is this installment of TLIA. But that doesn't mean it's over completely! I'm still going to write other Fringe fics, and TLIA Season Two will start up in September._


	53. Alternate Ending!

**Chapter Title: **_Alternate Ending!—"But Almost Anything"_

**Chapter Genre:** _Humour, ROADTRIP_

**Chapter Rating:** _M_

**Chapter Notes: **_For the Adorable Fantasy Cat!!!_

**Takes Place: **_After 1.20_

**Song: **_"Whatever Didi Wants" by NOFX_

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own this and never did!_

* * *

"_I wouldn't climb the highest mountain_

_Could get a blister, but almost anything_

_I wouldn't throw coins in a fountain_

_I may be needing to make a phone call_

_I'd call you collect whenever I could_

_Cause if there's anything you want_

_I'll probably get it_

_Just tell me what you need_

_I'll try not to forget it_

_You need someone to blame_

_I'll say I said it_

_Whatever Didi wants she's gonna get it__"_

* * *

When Olivia entered the lab that morning, she looked tired and Astrid was about to ask her if she was feeling okay when the blonde handed over a small plastic rectangle.

"Your card arrived," she said wearily and Astrid made a face, taking the object to study.

"Card?"

Olivia nodded. "Company card. You know, the one that Broyles said he'd get for us so we didn't have to keep calling Charlie up to finalise the paper work for something we needed?"

Astrid looked at the card in her hand and when she glanced up, her eyes met Dr. Bishop's. A large grin formed on his face and he started to open his mouth, she gave the slightest shake of her head and he gave the barest of nods.

It wasn't until lunchtime when Olivia had barricaded herself in her office and Peter had run off to pick up their sandwiches that Astrid and Walter had the chance to talk to one another in private. She turned up the Elvis record playing so that they wouldn't be overheard as they whispered to one another.

"I, uh, think I need to get away for the weekend so that I can, um, you know," Walter said feverishly, taking her hands in his, a giddy smile on his face.

"Clear your head?" she asked, grinning just a broadly.

"Exactly! I can't work with in these conditions! I might go crazy!" he looped his finger in a few circles around the side of his head.

"And we can't have that!" she agreed. "Where do we have to go?"

"Um! Um! Um! Atlantic City! We'll go gambling and we'll see topless dancers and we'll—"

She held up her hand to silence him. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We can plan the details on the road!"

He hurried over to the coat tree by the door and picked up the black duffle bag she'd become familiar with. "I have a spare set of clothes in my bag—Peter packed them in case I ruin my own."

"I have an overnight bag in the trunk for the nights I have to stay over and finish reports for Olivia," she said, in disbelief that everything was working out so well.

"So we're ready to go then?"

"Completely. We can get drive-through for lunch and be there by evening." Astrid turned her head towards the back office. "Hey Olivia?"

"Yes?" the blonde called out.

"Are these cards already activated?" she asked.

"Yes."

Astrid and Walter gave excited squeals that they muffled with their hands.

"Let me write down a quick note to say we needed to step out of the laboratory and that we'll call them later, please don't worry," she said as she turned to the desk to scribble a note out.

"I had a fruit cocktail once in Atlantic City!" he said giddily, swinging his duffle bag around violently.

"C'mon!" She took him by the hand and they ran out of the lab.

Once in her government plated vehicle, she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket.

"Why are you turning off your phone?" he asked curiously.

"They can track where it pings the towers. And I know that the GPS tracker in the vehicle broke two weeks ago—I reported it but no one's done anything about it, so it serves them right that they won't be able to track us."

"It seems like I'm not the only one who needed a vacation," he grumbled.

"Trudat," she replied as the peeled out of the parking lot.

* * *

"And then he says, 'That wasn't my finger'!" Walter concluded with a cackle.

"Walter, that's disgusting," Astrid said about two hours into their trip.

In an effort to keep Walter entertained, she had been listening to him tell her some of the crudest jokes she'd ever heard in her life. As she drove in particularly nasty traffic, she could see that was probably a mistake.

He folded his arms across his chest. "You're laughing. And Peter doesn't allow me to tell jokes anymore."

"I can see why," she mumbled.

After a few minutes of silence Walter piped up again. "I can sing all of Elvis' songs in key! Do you want to hear?"

"Sure. Start with _'Good Luck Charm'_," she said, giving the bird to a woman who'd just cut them off.

"Will you sing along? Peter won't sing with me."

She spared a glance at him and grinned. "Of course!"

* * *

It was evening and after firmly establishing that Astrid would be holding onto both their hotel room keycards, the two were walking the Atlantic City boardwalk together after dining on some of the greasiest and tastiest fish and chips ever. He'd called her a pervert for requesting a room with two beds, but then she snippily reminded him that he didn't like sleeping in a room alone and that she had to keep an eye on him. He had grudgingly admitted she was right and then called dibs on all the soaps and shampoos in the bathroom.

At one of the brightly lit arcades Walter had managed to win a door prize of five hundred tickets and while he stood at the counter trying to decide what he wanted, Astrid made twenty dollar into quarters and tried her luck at DDR and Area 51. As much as she liked arcade games, she sucked at them and after losing yet another round of shooting aliens in the face, she discovered Walter standing next to her, looking curiously at the 'GAME OVER' screen.

"I can handle a real gun. I think the button was sticky on this trigger," she assured him quickly.

He gave her an amused smile and held out an electric blue t-shirt for her. "I won a shirt for you!"

She held it up and studied the text on the front; it had been designed to look like it originally read _'Let's keep it real,'_ only with a faux marker addition of the 't' and the ' 's' in bold red.

"Let's keep tit's real," she read aloud. "Wow, that's super classy, Walter."

"Model it for me!" he said, looking happy.

She couldn't help but smile and slipped in on over her camisole. Walter looked pleased and said,

"Such a lovely colour on you, young lady."

"Thank you."

They began to walk past a claw machine and Walter grabbed her arm, begging, "Win something for me!"

Astrid fished out the dollar amount of quarters required to play the game and began to move the claw with the joystick. "What one do you want?"

"Hmmm…" Walter pressed his face to the glass and studied the stuffed animals inside. "That kraken!"

She saw what he was pointing to. "The purple octopus?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Astrid hadn't played in years and as with the other arcade games, she had never been good in the first place. As expected, her skills were exceptionally lacking and her cheeks turned red as she missed the octopus toy completely.

"Fuck. I need another dollar," she grumbled as she dug out four more quarters.

She was going to spend as much money as she had to to get the toy, even if it took her all night long night. However, the arcade gods seemed to be smiling and with the second try she managed to catch it.

"Whooooo!" She screamed as the octopus dropped into the dispensing chute.

Walter jumped up and down next to her. "You got it! You got it!"

She pulled the toy out and presented it to him. "One purple octopus!"

"It's beautiful," he whispered, his eyes watering.

He pulled her into a tight embrace and though a little startled, she hugged back.

"This was a wonderful evening, Astro," he said, cuddling with the octopus toy.

"It certainly was," she said, pleased with herself and her new shirt. She felt his hand slip into hers. "Walter—"

"Just so we don't get separated from one another," he assured her.

"Of course." She felt herself blushing. "Shall we head back to the hotel room? It's getting late and you're looking a little tired."

* * *

Walter was loudly singing in the showers, a very mangled version of 'De Colores' while Astrid watched the evening news on her bed. She turned on her cellphone and found she had fourteen missed calls from Olivia, three from Charlie, and thirty from Peter. She decided it was probably time to confess what they'd done. She hit his number on the speed dial and he picked up halfway through he first ring.

"Hey, Peter!" she greeted quickly.

"Astrid! Oh, thank god! We were beginning to worry you'd been kidnapped!" he said breathlessly.

"No, I'm fine." She felt guilty. "Walter just wanted to spend some time away and I thought I'd give you the night off."

He gave a relieved sounding laugh. "Astrid, you're a saint. What can I do to pay you back?"

She thought for a moment. "Um, you could go water the fern in my apartment. I know you can pick locks, so…"

"Consider it done. Can I talk to Walter?"

"Yeah, just a minute." She set the phone down on the pillow as she went over to the bathroom and knocked on the door. "Walter, Peter wants to talk to you."

"Be a lamb and tell him I'll be out in a minute," he called out.

"You'd better be dressed," she warned.

True to his word, Walter was in his pyjamas and robe when he came out of the bathroom in exactly sixty seconds. He shook his head violently and water from his hair splattered in her face. He joined her on her bed and picked up the phone.

"Hello, son! Astringent won a kraken for me!"

Astrid smiled, and a little bit exhausted, she decided to rest her eyes and she laid her head back against the headboard.

* * *

She was very warm and very relaxed...something she hadn't been in a very long time. She snuggled against the firm but comfortable body next to hers, enjoying the feeling of fingers playing in her hair—

_Wait_.

She didn't recall going to bed. She didn't recall going to sleep at all. Was that the TV playing in the background? And who was she so close to?

Her eyes parted slightly and she tilted her head to see Walter's face. He looked down at her and smiled.

"Ah, you're awake. I didn't wake you, did I?" he asked.

She lifted her head off his shoulder and yawned. "No. Why was I…?"

"Against me? I don't know." He shrugged. "You did it last night when I was on the phone and I was afraid to tell you no."

Surprisingly, her neck wasn't sore at all. "Oh. What time is it?"

He glanced at the hotel clock on the nightstand. "I don't know."

"What are you watching?" she asked as the television was quietly depicting an explosion.

"I don't know." He pointed to a black car. "It's about a car that's smart."

"Ugh, it's too early in the morning to watch David Hasslehoff. Find the news or something," she grumbled.

"You talk in your sleep," he said, watching his toes wiggle.

"What did I say?" she asked, a little alarmed.

"Dunno. It was in French. Mine is a bit rusty."

"Oh."

"You could have been talking about spoons. Or octopi."

She yawned again. "Walter, get off my bed."

* * *

It was nearly lunchtime and they'd pulled over to a roadside diner to get something to eat. They were headed back to Boston and Walter was busy concluding his order to the waitress.

"And pancakes with chocolate chips in a face. But no eyebrows."

Astrid looked up at the woman. "Could you read that back to me?"

"For you, a beef melt with Ortega chilies and a side of watermelon. For him, an order of boysenberry pie a la mode, a meatloaf sandwich, a side of fries, two scrambled eggs, a side of mashed potatoes, a side of corn, two pieces of wheat toast dry, two sides of bacon and pancakes with chocolate chip faces."

"No eyebrows," Astrid added.

"No eyebrows," the waitress agreed.

As the woman left with the menus, Astrid watched Walter drawing on a placemat with one of the pens from her purse. "Well, we've certainly given this company card a good workout."

He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Imagine what everyone will say when they see we only rented one hotel room!"

"I paid that in cash," she said smugly.

He stuck his tongue out at her. "You're no fun."

"I'm not starting a scandal for your amusement," she said as she wondered how Peter had spent his day off.

Walter finished drawing Peter's smile with the pen and held the placemat up for her to look at. "He's just kissed Agent Dunham. That's why he's smiling!"

Walter was a pretty good artist and had managed to capture the shy look that both his son and the blond agent had.

"It's nice, Walter."

He handed it over to her. "Put it in your purse so I won't lose it."

* * *

"Junior Agent Farnsworth, I understand you made good usage of your new company credit card." Broyles sat across from her in his office, his hands folded neatly on his desk. "Two hundred dollars in a twenty-four hour period."

Astrid was good liar, but there was something about the man that made her fairly certain he was a living lie detector. "Well, you see, Dr. Bishop needed to—"

"Investigate something?" he interjected.

She nodded, her hair bobbing wildly. "Yes!"

He raised an eyebrow. "And you were up all night, which is why there is no charge for two hotel rooms?"

"Yes. Investigating," she repeated. Broyles looked at her blankly and she bit her lower lip. "Am I in trouble?"

He gave a defeated sounding sigh. "If it keeps him working for us, then it's the least we can do." He gave a dismissive flick of his hand as he turned his attention back to his papers. "You're may leave."

She gave a nod as she stood up from the desk and hurried out of his office.

Walter, whom had been waiting patiently at her own desk, looked incredibly concerned. "Are you in trouble, my dear?"

"No." She gave him a mischievous smile. "So where do you want to go next weekend?"

* * *

_**A/N:** Just something silly :) I hope you liked this Alternate Ending for TLIA. If you want the albums, head over to my LiveJournal or PM for the links!_


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